My husband decided to make biscuits. I decided to keep my mouth shut, a practice I don’t do very often. There’s an art to making big, fat, golden brown, flaky, melt-in-your-mouth, southern, buttermilk biscuits. Not a yearly, spur-of-the-moment thing to impress your next-door neighbor or important dinner guests.
A few minutes later, I walked into the kitchen, and thought I had entered a severe snowstorm. Flour was everywhere! On the floor. On the countertops. In the kitchen sink. I’m surprised the dogs weren’t covered from head to tail. Slowly recovering from the shockwave, I looked up, and lo and behold, there stood my husband looking like Frosty the Snowman with a smile as big as Texas.
As if he had reached the top of Mt. Everest, he said triumphantly, “Look in the oven.” I brushed the flour off the handle, slowly opened the oven door, and there huddled in the middle of the cookie sheet sat five puny little biscuits pretending to be big, fat, golden brown, flaky, melt-in-your-mouth, southern, buttermilk biscuits like his momma used to make!
Keeping squirrels off the birdfeeder is like keeping bees off honey. When you buy a so-called, squirrel-proof birdfeeder, be ready for a big let-down. YouTube is full of claims, and videos to prove them, but I have yet to buy a birdfeeder that is actually squirrel-proof.
Determined not to pay another cent for another birdfeeder, I ordered a 15.75″ birdfeeder baffle from Amazon. It was hilarious watching those silly squirrels twirling around like a top and tumbling to the ground. Ha, ha, squirrels. You guys finally got outwitted by two old dried up prunes!
Then it backfired. The laugh was on us. They figured out a way to hang on and wrap themselves around the birdfeeder like garland on a Christmas tree. I give up! You win! Have at it, you dirty, rotten scoundrels! Maybe we’ll just skin you alive and feed you to the vultures!
Seeing them planted day, after day like a chocking vine around the feeder, made me want to cut off their bushy tails and hang them on a tree. Better yet, maybe I’ll just wring their scrawny little necks and have them for supper!
Still refusing to be outwitted by a bunch of conniving critters, I got to thinking. Maybe we just need a bigger baffle and raise the feeder higher to keep them from jumping on it from the ground.
So, I ordered a 27″ baffle, which my husband exchanged for the smaller one, and raised the birdfeeder higher from the ground. There! That’ll fix ’em!
Oh, yeah? On what planet? Mars?
This is crazy! There’s got to be a way to keep those rascals off the bird feeder. One day, they tore it completely down and had a royal feast. Even the rabbits joined in. This ain’t right! Of all the geniuses in the world and not one of them can invent a genuine, smarter-than-a-squirrel, birdfeeder?
One day, while sitting on the back porch studying the baffle and why it wasn’t working, I suddenly got a brainy idea. What if we raise the feeder again and hang the smaller baffle above the larger baffle? That way, when the squirrels lower themselves onto the smaller baffle, the larger baffle will prevent them from hanging on and grabbing hold of the feeder at the same time.
So, that’s what we did. And surprise, surprise! My little brainstorm worked like a charm. The birds have their feeder back, and the squirrels gather beneath like a happy little family, eating the seeds that spill to the ground.
It’s been working going on two months, now, but I’m not naive enough to think that a bigger, smart-aleck one won’t come along and figure it out. But I’ve got a plan just in case. We’ll just add another baffle and see how he likes that! Maybe my great-grandkids can outsmart me, but never again will I be outsmarted by a crafty, thieving, bushy-tailed squirrel. At least, not today!
The toughest part about walking is stopping what I’m doing and pushing myself out the door. But once my feet hit the driveway, I’m ready to dive into the adventures of the great outdoors.
My walks consist of pondering, talking to God, and setting my spirit free. The dishes can scream their dirty little heads off, but I can’t hear them. I don’t even know them. This is my time. My walk. And I’m not stopping till my legs fall off.
My favorite walks are on wooded trails, but since there are none close by, I walk around the neighborhood, with its wide-open areas and rolling hills, serving as pleasant reminders of the pasture it was.
One day last summer, I turned down a road and was met with a German Shepherd. He was a puppy. A big puppy, on the brink of becoming a full-grown, mean-looking beast, so I kept an eye on him as I continued walking.
I never run from a dog. Ever! I stand and face the bully, my walking sticks loaded for battle. As I continued walking, he continued barking and running around across the road. Then, like a curious cat, he ran to me and sniffed my hand. Okay. Sniffing is good. He’s not growling and flashing his teeth; he just wants to play. I hope.
Suddenly, he ran around me and jumped on my back, nearly knocking me to my knees. Frantically, I poked him in the ribs with my walking sticks, but like a stubborn bull, he wouldn’t budge.
Now I’m scared. I’m going to fall and break every bone in my body, and this beast is going to eat me alive! This is getting serious now. He’s not the playful puppy I thought he was, and I’m not the girlfriend he thought I was. Somebody is going to lose this battle, and it won’t be me!
Finally, two guys ran to my rescue, neither of whom owned the dog, but they knew who did, and the only family member that was home was parked in the middle of my back!
After much tugging and pulling, both guys managed to set me free without any bloodshed or broken bones. I continued my walk in one piece and decided to never walk down that street again!
Straight From the Heart 