The Urban Refugee

Refrigerator BBQ.

Say hello to my new (to me, that is) camper, or as I’ve been jokingly calling it, my future Divorce Condo. I purchased it last year, but the delivery didn’t happen until this spring. That’s not a huge problem as I’m still working on getting a truck to put under it. My father-in-law has graciously offered the use of one of his farm trucks in the meantime.

I had hoped to swamp it out a bit today (and also to catch up on some paperwork for the PC biz), but a trip down the road to pick up the deposit book and fix a problem with the parents’ VCR somehow turned into an all day affair that involved herding and trucking cattle around. Ashlyn got to pet and then help bottle feed a new calf, so it was all cool with her.

Ah, well, I’ll get the camper done by next weekend, hopefully in time to take it out for an inaugural journey. I realize that it’s still April, but I’m sure there’s a nearby campground that’s worth a family outing (something I never got to do as a kid).

Now if only I could figure out how to get the propane burner in the camper’s refrigerator to stay lit…

Slightly unsettling fact:

It’s not uncommon to see a stock whip poking out of the back of a local’s vehicle in this area.

Even more unsettling fact:

It’s not considered necessary to own livestock in order to own a stock whip.

A few weeks ago my neighbor mentioned a spot that was crawling with buckle bunnies. I questioned her about it and she said they can usually be found outside the bar at the Consort Hotel. My portfolio is a bit light on rabbit shots, so I figured I’d go for it. Besides I work just down the street from the hotel so how hard could it be to capture some buckle bunny images?

It’s hard.

Three weeks later and I haven’t seen or photographed one buckle bunny. There’ve been quite a few blondes in cowboy boots puking outside the hotel later in the evening, but I’m not into photographing that sort of thing.

I wish the blondes would stop scaring away the rabbits.

After nearly killing myself trying to mount a satellite dish out of range of some tree branches encroaching on a rooftop, it occurred to me that it would be lot more sensible (and survivable) to just trim away the offending plant matter. Not having my chainsaw with me, I borrowed a saw from the customer.

Well.

The last time this saw was pressed into service it was used to hack apart a deer. More to the point, it had obviously been used to hack apart something given the amount of dried gore that it was crusted with. If Jason Voorhees was ever to own a saw, it would be this saw.

My wife commented that my appetite seemed a bit subdued yesterday evening. There was a reason for that, and it wasn’t just a near death experience.

You have one choice, boy: sex or the saw. Sex is, well, nobody knows. But the saw, the saw is family. — Drayton, Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part II

My new chainsaw will be arriving on May 3rd. That’s 16 inches and 40 ccs of sharp, two-stroke, whirling, death. Just the thing to have on hand when my daughter introduces me to her first boyfriend, methinks.

You might be a redneck if…

…your wife has to forcibly remind you that it’s inadvisable, both legally and otherwise, to camp out with a rifle at the roadside next to the carcass of a recently deceased deer in the hopes of picking off a few coyotes.

Damn it.

The good news is that our trailer has finally been skirted. The bad news is that we’re having trouble finding pantyhose that will fit it. There’s always something…

“So how are you adjusting to country life?”

“Aside from the coyotes, skunks, and mice, I like it just fine.”

“You don’t like it out here.”

“Sure I do. I’m just sick of emptying the mouse traps in the shed, is all.”

“How many have you caught?”

“I stopped counting after fifty.”

“Wow. What are you doing with them all?”

“I was trying to build a small pile of them next to the door of the shed, but the goddamn coyotes keep stealing them.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Oh, I can tell you why. The bumpkins out here wouldn’t understand Neo-Dadist sculpture if it bit them in the ass, and that includes the coyotes.”

I walk into the utility room and find my wife rummaging through one of the cupboards…

“Zane left behind some new pieces for the toilet tank in case we have problems with it, and I found some of those numbers that go on the outside of our home as well.”

“Hey, since we don’t have an actual street number, could we make one up?”

“Sure, I guess. Wait– NO. You are not putting 666 on our trailer!”

“Damn.”

She understands me all too well.