Instead of waiting until Wednesday to post my weekly musings, I posted the story on Sunday because my week had been so full. I guess I should have waited. I truly did not think anything else would happen before starting next week’s musings. I was wrong. Boy was I wrong!

            After a night of fitful sleeping (thanks to that wonderful loving Hubby of mine and his snoring), I was up at 6:15 a.m. I am a diehard seven o’clocker, so this is early for me. I normally feed the dogs (Calypso and Ryka) around 7:15 and they were fed by 6:45 this morning. I was thinking about that time that a nap (the three-hour kind) would be in order. Hubby (did I mention, loving and adorable Hubby) comes whistling out the back door. He seemed to be under the impression that I WANTED to clean the inside of his truck. The inside of my car is always clean and organized. Let me set you straight right now; I did not WANT to clean his truck.

Hubby’s air conditioner was on the blink for almost a year (it is now working) and he has been driving up and down a gravel road (where we are building rental houses) with his windows down and add to that, a month of trawling. No, I assure you that I did not WANT to clean the inside of his truck. I would rather play “Scoop the Poop” than clean his unorganized, dirty, (did I mention totally UNORGANIZED) truck. Unorganized disgust me. You can only imagine how dirty and unorganized really disgust me. You guessed it. I cleaned the inside of his truck. I began thinking of all the times he has washed my huge Suburban without a word, so I cleaned the inside of his truck (but I fussed the entire time).

Yuck! YUCK! YUCK! Did I mention that I fussed the entire time? I pulled everything out (against his fussing) and wiped down every surface. I then vacuumed every surface, sucked up a few unsuckable (how do you like that word) items that he had to extract from the vacuum hose (more fussing). I flipped the back seat up and told him to leave it unless someone was riding with him so it would stay clean because I was NOT cleaning it again. I found bins for the junk (house plans, cups, plates, paper, screws, pencils, rubber bands, nails, pens, napkins, clean shirts) and told him that anytime he had the urge to throw something on the floor; it had better land in the bin. (I told you I fussed the entire time.)

I worked on the inside while he worked on the outside. That truck won’t know what to do with itself it’s so clean. He was just finishing up with putting all the tools back in the bed when I teased him that it looked so pretty. I don’t think he liked it.

All of that wasn’t the funny part of what happened this morning. Calypso was hanging around while we were working and she found her way into the kennel and there she stayed. She was so quiet I didn’t realize she was still in there until she started barking. She was carrying on and my first thoughts were, “Oh no! Another rat!” I was yelling at Hubby to come and find what was making her bark so much. She was in a state of anxiety. She would not stop barking. Hubby finally looked at me and cracked up laughing. While she was sleeping, he had washed all the truck mats and hung them on the kennel fence to dry. She had never seen them before and didn’t’ know what they were. The ferocious dog, who attacked a rat the other morning, was deathly afraid of the truck mats! It was hysterical! I took a picture of the mats drying. My silly, ferocious dog, what next? (I almost hate to ask that question.)

I think I just answered my own question. I have lost my marbles. Calypso is afraid of the mower and when I pull it out of the barn; (even before the motor is on) she hightails it into her house and stays there. Ryka has been jumping into the wagon and sitting there (even when it is not attached to the mower), so I decided (in all my infamous wisdom) to take them for a ride around the yard (yes, I am that crazy lady.) I hooked up the wagon and Ryka jumped in. It took some coaxing to get Calypso out of her house and into the wagon, but we managed. You can see in the pictures that she seemed to enjoy her ride. Ryka was not ready to get out when the ride was finished. I received lots and lots of kisses (licks) for my effort. I have happy dogs.

Enjoying the ride.

Oh! And, before I forget, I added a picture of the “Rolling Wall” to my last story. I was thinking about painting it Pepto-Bismol pink with a bright purple peace sign. Maybe I’ll even add some sparkle dust to the purple!

Trawling season ended, but now the figs are coming in. So, guess what this chick has been doing. Dieting and cooking fig preserves. Now, is that a combination or what?

Speaking of fig season, I had to make a trip to the grocery yesterday afternoon for sugar. Seems I was having a Lucy moment and needed a car horn to pull me back to reality. I was driving through the parking lot and noticed a sign on the back of a truck and I was paying a little too much attention to what it said (or so thought the woman blowing her horn at me because I was in her lane.) Yes, I wandered over into the wrong lane and I just don’t see why this woman couldn’t just change lanes too. Some people make life difficult (no, not me!)

Then, last night, I had Jessica along for the adventure (poor Jessica.) She seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time lately. We were on our way to book club and I made a quick stop at a store to pick up a gift certificate (which reminds me, I need to mail it) and as we were leaving I was talking and I guess not paying a lot of attention to where I was headed. We both noticed about the same time that what looked like an exit was not an exit. I was about to drive over the curb and through the grass (to Grandmother’s house?) Picture us, in the Lucy-mobile, flying over the green space. As it was, I may have simply applied the brakes a little too hard (just checking to make sure the seat-belts work – haven’t you ever tried that before? I”m talking about making sure the seat-belts work, you never know when you might need them.)  Why do they do things like that? If it looks like an exit, it should be an exit!

Then, we arrived at our friend’s house for book club, otherwise known as “therapy”. The wine was flowing, and it sure looked good, but I was the designated driver. I might mention here that I do not drink, but the wine looked good! I was tempted to started drinking, but I was a good girl and stuck to lemonade (which, next to good old Southern Ice Tea, is my favorite.) As usual, the conversation and company was outstanding and Jessica and I got a little out of hand. When we are wound up, we are like Lucy and Ethel, at their comedic best. Unfortunately, I can’t go into details, but if walls could talk! What can I say, except it falls under “therapy”? Confidentiality is in effect.

Friday night, just as I was sitting down at the computer thinking my life was borderline boring and what could I write about to finish up this piece, all hell broke loose. As my husband was exiting the shower, the phone rang. It was one of his brothers saying that their father had called complaining of chest pains and he was heading to pick him up and bring him to the hospital. Hubby got dressed for a trip to the hospital rather than bed. I received the first update around one o’clock in the morning. I fell asleep shortly after.

I was woken from a dead sleep at 1:30 a.m. The dogs (bless their barking-wake-me-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-AGAIN-hearts), were barking the bark of capture. My only thought was please, not another rat! I drug myself from my nice, soft bed, slipped my feet into an old pair of shoes, grabbed the huge flashlight (I aim to see “it” before “it” sees me) and headed out the back door into darkness. I knew that as long as something was out there, there would be no sleep for me.

I got my usual greeting from Calypso – she jumped on me (there went the clean pajamas) in excitement. Ryka was busy in the flower garden. As she was running in and out of my plants barking, I followed her with the light beam. When Calypso took off at a sprint and they convened at the same point, I knew the prey was close. Fortunately, what they were chomping at the bit to get at was on the other side of a cyclone fence and out of their reach.

As I braved the darkness and unknown, and shined the light over the fence, I spotted a huge armadillo taunting them. For those of you who don’t know, armadillos can be vicious animals when provoked. They also dig huge holes in the flowerbeds. This creature was amusing himself by going in and out of a culvert. However, I did not find it amusing at all and let him know. I managed to calm the dogs and get them locked in the kennel. They were none too happy about that arrangement.

I went inside the house and called Hubby. Once again, Hubby is nowhere near home. He is in the next city (forty miles away) en-route to the hospital with his brother. Hubby told me to let the dogs out and if they cornered the armadillo again, I should call the neighbor to shoot it (I need to call the neighbor who has a newborn baby? I don’t think so.)

I went back outside, let the dogs out of the kennel, and followed them to the flower garden to observe. The troublesome armadillo had disappeared for the moment (I think he headed down the fence line to the horse pen – not a good sign.)

If you were thinking that was the end of the story – you do not know me too well – yet. I headed back to the house and as I opened the storm door, the suction pulled the house door closed. Oh yeah, it was locked. It is by that point, 2:15 in the morning and I am now locked out of the house, in the dark, with an armadillo still on the loose. I was not a happy camper! Yes, there is a key outside, but remember the dark, the armadillo?

I headed to find the key. During my search (I am always finding a better place to hide the key and therefore, can never find the key – hence, the search) for the key, I opened a little drawer where I thought the key might be. OMG! First, an armadillo and now some kind of huge pile of ants with wings was laying in a pile of wood dust in the drawer! Freaked me out! I could have just shut the drawer and left them, but that is where I spotted the key to the house that I was locked out of, in the middle of the night, in the dark, with an armadillo on the loose.

I managed to get the key out (no details here!) and ran to the house, praying that the can of Raid was FULL! After about two-thirds of a can of Raid, the little beasts were dead. Not dying, DEAD! I am proud to say I handled the situation. They were all dead, except for the one that I found crawling down my arm! After another freak-out session, I went to bed.

And, with the end of that story, the week is only half over.