Our First Cat

We were living in Coulter, a small town in Iowa, at the time we got our first cat. Pickle Queen is not a cat person and was a little on the surly side when I came home with Tom, a fine specimen of a cat, upon returning from a farm visit with one of my students. If you are a cat person, you know what a tom cat is like.

One afternoon a concerned neighbor and friend knocked on our door and said, “Your cat is scurrying all over the neighborhood, down the allies, up the fire escapes, down stairways and hurrying into cellars as if he were mad.”

“I know,” I replied. “We just had him ‘fixed’ and he’s running around canceling appointments.”

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Vote Carefully This Fall

To help support the family, my mother, Mildred, was in the business of selling fertilized chicken eggs. She had several hundred young pullets and ten roosters to fertilize the eggs.

She kept records and any rooster that was not performing went into the soup kettle and was replaced with another promising rooster.

This took a lot of time, so she obtained some tiny bells and attached them around the necks of her roosters. Each bell had a different tone, so she could tell which rooster was performing. Now, she could sit on the porch and fill out an efficiency report by just listening to the bells. Mildred’s favorite rooster, old Butch, was a fine specimen but, one morning old Butch’s bell hadn’t rung at all! When she went to investigate, she saw the other roosters were busy chasing pullets, bells-a-ringing, but the pullets hearing the roosters coming would run for cover.

To Mildred’s amazement, old Butch had his bell in his beak, so it couldn’t ring. He’d sneak up on a pullet, do his job, and walk off to the next one.

Mildred was so proud of old Butch, she entered him in a show at the Iowa State Fair and he became an overnight sensation among the judges. The result was the judges not only awarded old Butch the “No Bell Piece Prize” they also awarded him the “Pulletsuprise” as well.

Clearly old Butch was a politician in the making. Who else but a politician could figure out how to win two of the most coveted awards on our planet by being the best at sneaking up on the unsuspecting populance and screwing them when they weren’t paying attention?

Vote carefully this fall. You can’t always hear the bell.

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Haying Time

Luray bills itself as the ‘Cabin Capital’ of Virginia because of all the cabins we have around to help house the tourists that frequent the area. Not to long ago some tourists from the Boston area were driving through our area when they noticed a field full of cows and a local farmer who was taking all the round bales of hay, loading them onto a wagon and hauling them away. Not knowing that it’s a common practice around here to cut and bale pasture land, they stopped and asked the farmer about it.

“Well,” he said, “the county agent came by and told me to pick ’em all up. He said the cows weren’t getting a square meal!”

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Free Range Chicken Solution

On the road into Luray we pass a place where free range chickens have a bad habit of jumping the fence, which is nothing like ‘jumping the broom’. Seeing them roam free reminds me of an experience I had while living in South Dakota.

A neighbor of ours was having trouble keeping his chickens fenced in. He kept talking about chickens being great creatures created by God, and as such, they had the right to go wherever they wanted.

Being tired of stepping in chicken ‘scat’ everyday when I came home from school, I finally thought of the perfect solution to fixing the problem of having to clean my shoes before entering my own home. On the way home from school one Friday afternoon I made a stop at the corner grocery where I bought a dozen eggs. That night I snuck out and placed the eggs throughout our yard.

The next morning, being a Saturday, I was sure the neighbor was watching his chickens enjoy being free. I went out and wandered around our yard gathering the eggs. After that, we never had problems with finding his chickens in our yard. That problem solved.

Two days ago we were privileged to see what we call the ‘trifecta’. Without leaving the house, we observed turkeys, deer and a black bear, all within 20 yards of the house. Now, I could have harvested those free range chickens many years ago, but I didn’t. I don’t have any turkey eggs, and I’m pretty sure that deer and bear don’t lay eggs, so planting eggs won’t solve anything. I wonder how I’ll solve this problem!

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Egg Size

We’ve all probably noticed the various sizes of eggs available in the grocery store. You have Jumbo, Extra large, Large, Medium and Small. You can purchase them by the half-dozen, dozen, dozen and a half, a flat, two flats and more ways if you look at all the liquid options. We buy very few eggs anymore as a neighbor’s daughter has a ‘farm flock’ that produces more eggs than they know what to do with. One of the advantages of getting our eggs this way is that we have a wide selection of egg sizes in every carton. I tell you these things as a build up to a conversation I was privileged to hear at a Kroger store recently.

A young housewife was complaining to the grocer restocking the meat, dairy and egg refrigerated cases. “These eggs are very small,” she told the grocer.

“They come straight from the farm this morning, madam, ” the grocer replied.

“That’s the trouble with these farmers,” she continued.

“How’s that?” the grocer asked.

“They’re so anxious to get their eggs sold they take them off the nest too soon,” she replied.

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Put the Beads Away

On one episode of the Dr. Pol marathon this past weekend, the clinic was overrun with parrot problems. When one lady brought in 2 parrots, this story came to mind.

A woman went to the parish priest and said, “Father, I have a problem. I have two female parrots, but they only know how to say one thing.”

“What do they say?” the priest asked.

“They say, ‘Hi, we’re hookers! Do you want to have a some fun?'”

“That’s obscene,” snorted the priest. After some thought, he said, “I may have a solution to your problem. I have two male talking parrots, which I have taught to read the Bible and pray. Bring your two parrots over to the parsonage, and we’ll put them in the cage with Francis and Peter. My parrots can teach your parrots to pray and worship, and your birds will soon stop saying that awful phrase.”

“Thank you,” said the woman. “That sounds like a splendid idea.”

So the next day she brought her female parrots to the parsonage. As the priest ushered her in, she saw that his two parrots were inside the cage holding rosary beads and praying. Impressed, she walked over and put her parrots in the cage with them. A few minutes later, the female parrots said in unison, “Hi, we’re hookers! Do you want to have some fun?”

Shocked, one male parrot, looked over at the other male parrot and said, “Put the beads away, Francis! Our prayers have been answered.”

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What Really Happened on the Ark

This is one story about life on the Ark that was never taught in Sunday School.

After Noah closed the door of the Ark he called a meeting with all of the animals. “Hey, listen up,” he said. “There will be no sex what so ever on this trip. All of you males take off your penis and hand it to my sons. I will be at the small table over there and will write you a receipt. Hang on to it in order to get your penis back after we land.”

A week into the journey, Mr. Rabbit hopped excitedly into his wife’s cage and said, “Quick! Get on my shoulders, look out the window and tell me if you see land yet?”

She hopped onto his shoulders, looked out the window but said, “Sorry, no sign of land yet.”

“Damn!’ said Mr. Rabbit.

This went on day after day for the next week. Each day Mr. Rabbit would excitedly rush into the cage and ask Mrs. Rabbit if she could see land yet. Each day the answer was the same. Eventually she got sick and tired with him asking the same question and said, “What’s wrong with you? You dang well know that it will rain for forty days and forty nights. Only after the water has drained will we be able to see land. Why are you acting so excited?”

“Look,” said Mr. Rabbit slyly, producing a slip of paper from his pocket. “I’ve got the horse’s receipt!”

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