My husband has decided not to shave until April. This is not a good thing. He hasn't trimmed his hair or facial hair since September. Which means he already looks like a Yetti. This is a man who could grow a full beard before he turned 17.
Every three days I have to literally sweep up what he sheds on the bathroom floor. I'm not kidding. The man can clog a drain within a week. If I could implant the hair on my Redneck's body onto my head, I'd have that full, flowing locks everyone lusts after. As it is, I have a broom and dustpan.
Several of our friends have joined the "No Shave November" movement. But they nave short, shaped beards. My husband's beard begins at his cheeks and blends into his chest hair. He walks around with crumbs, sauce, meat, anything he puts in his mouth eventually falls or dribbles onto the beard. Not a pretty site. He says "I'm just saving it for dessert." Uh huh.
He's beginning to take his lower lip, tongue, and teeth and pull on his stache. I'm thinking a trim is in order. If the stache in included in this no shave endeavor, His lips will disappear before December.
In a few weeks I'm thinking the Redneck will look like he belongs in an unmarked white van. After a month he'll pass Si on Duck Dynasty. But April? I'm thinking he'll just be eyes poking out of curly, course black facial hair.
There are two positive effects I'm trying to remember as I'm looking at my husband's food-covered beard. No trimmings in the sink. He calls them presents. Presents that I have to clean up. Plus, no one is going to mess with us when he looks like a serial killer. In fact, people may wonder if I've been abducted by this overly hairy Redneck.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Monday, November 18, 2013
I'm Knee-Deep in Shit
Ok that's a lie. I was ankle-deep in shit. Cow shit. Which, for the record, is no where near as nasty as human, dog or cat shit. All they eat is grass. Yes, it's ginormous and makes pies in the field. But it also makes great compost and grows awesome veggies. But I digress. Last night, I was literally ankle-deep in Buttercup's poop. Seriously.
Cows are sweet animals. But let's face it. They're idiots. The move at a cow's pace. If you rush them, they rush you. It's just not smart to rush a cow. Just getting up and down off the ground takes an act of congress for a cow. Ok maybe that's an overstatement. It takes a few minutes for them to get up or lay down. Congress take, what, never? Again...I digress.
So one night last week I didn't feed the cows. They had a bit of hay left, and I decided they didn't need any more. A cow will eat just because it's bored. Not necessarily because they're hungry. Very much like me. But not like my husband. He decided they were hungry. Because they got off their fat asses and mooed when he got out of the truck that night.
They played that Redneck like a fiddle. He went to the hay barn, but the strings off a round bale, and rolled it onto the floor in front of their feed gates. What he didn't do, however, was pull all of the strings out of the hay.
Hay bales are tightly rolled. But they still need string to keep them together. Don't ask me how the baler works. I have no idea. I know how to clog one, but I don't know how to fix one. The strings, when you cut them, turn out to be about 8 feet long. And they're bright orange.
The next afternoon, I went to feed the cows. I'm maneuvering the bale from the night before so they can reach it, when I notice Buttercup, the leader of the herd, is sporting a bright orange string, dangling three feet from her mouth. Not good. I climbed over the gate, grabbed the string, and pulled. It wouldn't budge. The other cows, however, did. Again, not good.
I'm between the metal bars and a herd of cows, including a two-ton bull. But of course it's ButterBell, the newest member of our herd, who head butts me in the ass, picking me up three feet and moving me out of the way. She needed to see for herself just what Buttercup had in that mouth of hers.
I told Juni to run and get his dad. Eating an 8-foot string canNOT be good, I'm thinking. I try a few more times to pull it out, but it gets caught on her back set of teeth.
Cows have two sets of teeth ... a bottom set in the front (just gums up top) and a full set just before their throat. So they're about eight inches apart. A cow's head is big. Anyway, the string was catching on her back set of teeth, and when she turned her head, it was cutting into the side of her mouth.
Jasen comes over. He's trying to get to Buttercup. It's important to understand something about my Redneck Husband. He doesn't understand cows. He thinks like a dog. Come, sit, stay. Cows do not come, sit or stay. Buttercup would not come. She would not sit. And she definitely would not stay.
So I climb the fence, run for a bucket of feed, and put in a call to the emergency vet. It took the vet no more than 5 minutes to get back to me. In those 5 minutes, this is what transpired:
Juni can't lock the gate to the pen. Jasen gets Buttercup to the pen, but knows she'd just run out the other side. The herd is quickly gaining on them. I haul my fat ass over the fence again, lock the gate, and turn around just in time to see Jasen hurl the bucket of feed at the cows, kick one in the ass, climb the gate, say countless four-letter words, and hide in his truck. Basically he threw a temper tantrum. During the tantrum Buttercup swallowed the last of the string.
So I'm on the phone with the vet, saying she's swallowed the whole string. He says that yes, he can come out, cut a six-inch slit behind her front leg, reach into her first stomach, and pull out the string. But it's expensive. And, apparently, more-than-likely unnecessary. Apparently, as the string goes from stomach one to stomach four, it compacts the contents each time. The vet said she should pass the string in three or four days. Or fall down dead. Fan-friggin-tastic. Either way, we need to monitor her and get the string out of the field.
Which leads me ankle-deep into her poo. I had to go poo hunting in the field, looking for a bright orange string. No such luck. Unfortunately, the cows shit the most as they eat. Which leaves a pile of nastiness right in front of the hay barn. And so the search began, and ended, with no orange string. But she's still standing, with only one more day to go.
I'm thinking "whew, that was rough," and start feeding the cows. I'm meticulously taking each string out, wrapping it around the others, and putting on top of a bale where the cows couldn't get it. Or so I thought. Dumb-assed ButterBell decided the ball of string looked tasty. The next think I know, she has countless string dangling from her mouth, and I have my arm down her throat, to my elbow, grabbing at a ball of string while she's trying to swallow. I come out with the string, along with a giant, literally steaming, pile of half-digested hay. So now I keep the string in my coat pocket until I can get to the burn pile.
Cows are idiots. I love them, but let's face it. They're idiots.
So to recap. In the past three years I've been armpit-deep in a cow's private parts, elbow deep in a cow's mouth, and ankle deep in a cow's shit. Seriously.
Cows are sweet animals. But let's face it. They're idiots. The move at a cow's pace. If you rush them, they rush you. It's just not smart to rush a cow. Just getting up and down off the ground takes an act of congress for a cow. Ok maybe that's an overstatement. It takes a few minutes for them to get up or lay down. Congress take, what, never? Again...I digress.
So one night last week I didn't feed the cows. They had a bit of hay left, and I decided they didn't need any more. A cow will eat just because it's bored. Not necessarily because they're hungry. Very much like me. But not like my husband. He decided they were hungry. Because they got off their fat asses and mooed when he got out of the truck that night.
They played that Redneck like a fiddle. He went to the hay barn, but the strings off a round bale, and rolled it onto the floor in front of their feed gates. What he didn't do, however, was pull all of the strings out of the hay.
Hay bales are tightly rolled. But they still need string to keep them together. Don't ask me how the baler works. I have no idea. I know how to clog one, but I don't know how to fix one. The strings, when you cut them, turn out to be about 8 feet long. And they're bright orange.
The next afternoon, I went to feed the cows. I'm maneuvering the bale from the night before so they can reach it, when I notice Buttercup, the leader of the herd, is sporting a bright orange string, dangling three feet from her mouth. Not good. I climbed over the gate, grabbed the string, and pulled. It wouldn't budge. The other cows, however, did. Again, not good.
I'm between the metal bars and a herd of cows, including a two-ton bull. But of course it's ButterBell, the newest member of our herd, who head butts me in the ass, picking me up three feet and moving me out of the way. She needed to see for herself just what Buttercup had in that mouth of hers.
I told Juni to run and get his dad. Eating an 8-foot string canNOT be good, I'm thinking. I try a few more times to pull it out, but it gets caught on her back set of teeth.
Cows have two sets of teeth ... a bottom set in the front (just gums up top) and a full set just before their throat. So they're about eight inches apart. A cow's head is big. Anyway, the string was catching on her back set of teeth, and when she turned her head, it was cutting into the side of her mouth.
Jasen comes over. He's trying to get to Buttercup. It's important to understand something about my Redneck Husband. He doesn't understand cows. He thinks like a dog. Come, sit, stay. Cows do not come, sit or stay. Buttercup would not come. She would not sit. And she definitely would not stay.
So I climb the fence, run for a bucket of feed, and put in a call to the emergency vet. It took the vet no more than 5 minutes to get back to me. In those 5 minutes, this is what transpired:
Juni can't lock the gate to the pen. Jasen gets Buttercup to the pen, but knows she'd just run out the other side. The herd is quickly gaining on them. I haul my fat ass over the fence again, lock the gate, and turn around just in time to see Jasen hurl the bucket of feed at the cows, kick one in the ass, climb the gate, say countless four-letter words, and hide in his truck. Basically he threw a temper tantrum. During the tantrum Buttercup swallowed the last of the string.
So I'm on the phone with the vet, saying she's swallowed the whole string. He says that yes, he can come out, cut a six-inch slit behind her front leg, reach into her first stomach, and pull out the string. But it's expensive. And, apparently, more-than-likely unnecessary. Apparently, as the string goes from stomach one to stomach four, it compacts the contents each time. The vet said she should pass the string in three or four days. Or fall down dead. Fan-friggin-tastic. Either way, we need to monitor her and get the string out of the field.
Which leads me ankle-deep into her poo. I had to go poo hunting in the field, looking for a bright orange string. No such luck. Unfortunately, the cows shit the most as they eat. Which leaves a pile of nastiness right in front of the hay barn. And so the search began, and ended, with no orange string. But she's still standing, with only one more day to go.
I'm thinking "whew, that was rough," and start feeding the cows. I'm meticulously taking each string out, wrapping it around the others, and putting on top of a bale where the cows couldn't get it. Or so I thought. Dumb-assed ButterBell decided the ball of string looked tasty. The next think I know, she has countless string dangling from her mouth, and I have my arm down her throat, to my elbow, grabbing at a ball of string while she's trying to swallow. I come out with the string, along with a giant, literally steaming, pile of half-digested hay. So now I keep the string in my coat pocket until I can get to the burn pile.
Cows are idiots. I love them, but let's face it. They're idiots.
So to recap. In the past three years I've been armpit-deep in a cow's private parts, elbow deep in a cow's mouth, and ankle deep in a cow's shit. Seriously.
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