Milo Yield: Laugh Tracks in the Dust 4-1-13
Damphewmore Acres, Kan.
In recent days I’ve had a couple of unusual encounters with wildlife. The first gave me a big surprise. I went into the chicken house around dark to feed and gather the eggs.
All wuz going according to plan until I blindly reached into the lowest and darkest nest box to feel for an egg. Rather than an egg, I felt something long and thin that felt like a snake and then immediately I heard a loud “hiss-s-s-s.”
Let me tell you, it didn’t take me long to get my hand out of that nest box. Then I cautiously bent down and peered into the nest with my flashlight. I was greeted by the smiling countenance of an irritated possum. I’d grabbed its tail.
Well, that irritated me, too, so I maneuvered his tail until I could get a hold of it and pulled him from the nest box. Needless to say, that possum won’t be scaring me anymore — or eating any more of my eggs and chickens.
Pullout quote goes herey asdf sadfTin hent praesti onsequat volore tin etum veliquissim duissectem nonse consequam ipit numsandre tin verit alisse dolorem in vulputp atinibh eugait iurem elit atue faci tat nos acilit lutpat nullut la commy.
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The second wildlife encounter wuz a little more on the mundane side of life. Last week we had one day that the temperature got up to 85 degrees — fishin’ weather to me. My good college buddy from 50 years ago at Bea Wilder U. — ol’ Ray S. DeWheet from Pratt, Kan. — wuz visiting for a few days and we decided to wet a line and see if the fish were biting.
Well, long story short, we each caught a little crappie and were about ready to head for a card game when I made one more cast. I wuz retrieving the lure and suddenly it started retrieving in a real funny way. I could tell it wuzn’t a fish and it didn’t really feel like an underwater limb or weed either.
I kept cranking and the line just weaved back and forth like I wuz hooked to something flat. When I got the lure to the bank, I wuz sort of correct. What I’d done wuz simply hook a small snapping turtle right smack dab in the front of its shell. Never did hook into any flesh, but simply caught the shell.
If I wuz a little bewildered by what happened, I’ll bet that turtle really wondered what happened to it. It wuz peacefully swimming underwater and suddenly found itself going the other way and then on dry land.
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Heard a story about a farm wife who got home from grocery shopping and breathlessly came into the kitchen where her hubby wuz fixing himself a sandwich.
Immediately, his wife asked, “Have you ever seen a 20 dollar bill all crumpled up?”
“Guess not,” said her husband.
She gave him a sexy little smile, slowly reached into her cleavage and pulled out a crumpled 20 dollar bill.
“Have you ever seen a 50 all crumpled up?” she asked.
“Uh, no,” he said, a little more interested now.
She gave him another sexy little smile, seductively dipped into her cleavage and brought forth a crumpled up $50 bill.
“Now,” she said, “Have you ever seen $40,000 dollars all crumpled up?”
“No,” he said, now really intrigued.
“Well go look in the garage at your new pickup truck. I got backed into in the grocery store parking lot.”
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A Minnesota friend sent me this one. He lives close to a small Catholic convent, which is complete with a farm.
Someone who works at the dairy barn said the wise old Mother Superior was, sadly, playing out her last days.
The nuns at the convent gathered around her death bed trying to make her comfortable. They gave her some warm fresh milk to drink, but she refused it. Then one nun took the glass back to the kitchen — remembering a bottle of Irish whiskey they had received as a gift the previous Christmas. She opened it and poured a generous amount into the warm milk.
When she walked back to Mother Superior’s bed, she held the glass to the poor woman’s lips. Mother drank a little, then a little more. Before they knew it, she had drunk the whole glass down to the last drop.
“Mother,” the nuns asked earnestly, “Now that you’ve rallied a tad, please give us some wisdom before you die.”
The Mother Superior raised herself up in bed with a pious look on her face and said, “Don’t sell that cow.”
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The Old Boar’s Meandering and Mindless Tour of the Southern Flint Hills is shaping up nicely. My Missouri friend, ol’ Canby Handy, and I have heard from several kind folks who have suggested historical places to see, landscape features to enjoy, and overnight places to stay.
I’m still taking suggestions from folks in these southern Flint Hills counties — Wilson, Chautauqua, Cowley, Greenwood, Butler, and Chase. Best way to contact me is to e-mail at htcsac@gmail.com or call me at (620) 279-4345 (home) or (620) 344-1350 (cell). Our dates for the tour aren’t set. We’ll check the weather forecast for three days of predicted good spring weather in early April and those will be out dates. Our thanks to those who have responded so far.
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Now for some words of wisdom about grass and grassland. Some dude named John Lubbock summed up the purpose of our planned Flint Hills tour perfectly with these words: “Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under the trees on a spring day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky is by no means a waste of time.”
Amen! Have a good ’un. ❖
