The feather-hungry, dad-gummed coyotes have my little chicken flock in their sights again. And one big, ol’ wanna-be chicken killer is even arrogant about his boldness. Here’s what happened: It wuz raining lightly the evening before when I shut up my chickens and gathered the eggs, so I took my 22-rifle out of my UTV to keep it dry. So, I was weaponless the next morning when I went out to let the chickens out on their free-range. It wuz cool and cloudy that morning and I thought to myself, “this morning would be a good day for the coyotes to be on the prowl later than normal.” So, just to be safe, I only let the flock out into their small pen that adjoins the chicken house.
Then I drove on south to the tomato patch to pick some tomatoes for the neighbors and “Whoa!” there’s a big ol’ shaggy, male coyote standing broadside, not 50 yards away, nonchalantly looking at me, as if to say, “I’m here after your chickens. What you gonna do about it?”
Since I didn’t have anything to shoot it with, I just sat still and we glared at each other. Then the coyote slowly moseyed on to the top of my septic lagoon and calmly deposited a big pile of dung before turning around and going back into the timber south of Damphewmore Acres.
It’s a good thing that the neighbor kids put me on “coyote alert” after they spied three coyotes prowling through the view of their new trail camera they installed on the west side of our property. Now that I’m on high alert, one of these days some coyote will make a fatal mistake.
Last week, Nevah and I and four other family members attended another country western concert at the Granada Theater. The star this time wuz big-time Trace Adkins. Trace and his band put on a rousing performance, but it wuzn’t my all-time favorite. His music is a bit more country-rap that I like. But, we still had fun for the evening, even though, once again, the music was too loud for my old ears.
All responsible columnists admit to their mistakes and make a correction. So, last week when talking about hurricane damage in the U.S. and Caribbean, I had a brain cramp and listed them as Harvey, Irma and Jose. Don’t know where Jose came from because it wuz Hurricane Maria doing the damage to Puerto Rico. Regardless of the name, all the hurricane victims still need a lot of relief funds.
A new rural minister, the Reverend Dee Vout, decided that for his first sermon to his new congregation, he’d deliver a real stemwinder on the evils of potent distilled or fermented beverages.
So, he began his temperance sermon with great vigor. Shaking his fist into the air for emphasis, he shouted, “If I had all the beer in the world, I’d take it and pour it into the river.”
With even greater emphasis, he continued, “And if I had all the wine in the world, I’d take it and pour it into the river.”
And then finally, still shaking his fist in the air, he thundered,”’And if I had all the whiskey in the world, I’d take it and pour it into the river.”
Winded, sweating, and sermon complete, he sat down. The song leader stood and announced, “For our closing song, let us sing, ‘Shall We Gather at the River.’”
Okay, I’ve got a column theme now, so here’s another one:
A drunken old cowboy, who smelled like stale beer and cigarette smoke, found himself sitting next to the local priest on the rural community transportation van. His shirt was stained, his cheeks had hints of red lipstick, and a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey was sticking out of his torn denim coat pocket. He opened a a copy of a newspaper he found on the seat and began reading.
After a few minutes, the reeking cowboy turned to the priest and slurred,
“Say Father, what causes arthritis?”
The priest replied haughtily, “My Son, it’s caused by loose living, associating with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol and nicotine, contempt for your fellow man, and lack of a bath!”
The drunk muttered, “Well, I’ll be danged,” then returned to his paper.
The priest, thinking about the tone and content of what he had said, nudged the drunk and apologized. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to come on so strong. How long have you had arthritis?”
The drunk cowboy answered, “I don’t have arthritis, Father. But, it says here in the paper that the Pope does.”
I guess the moral to that story is always make sure you understand the question before offering your answer.
I’m disheartened by all the kneeling by NFL football players during the national anthem. Protest all you want on your own time, just not at your workplace at an overpriced sporting event. So, I’m venting with another political limerick.
NFL players disrespect our nation and flag,
While making millions in cash and swag.
Their arm-links and kneeling
Prove their unpatriotic feeling,
But, it just makes true patriots gag.
Have a good ‘un. Just don’t include any NFL games!