My New Little Sister

I can't believe that I have said there is nothing new to write about when it comes to my crazy family.  There is.  There's a new addition to the clan.  My darling new little sister, Sophie.

Ain't she just the cutest?

October 2011 this little bundle of joy entered my parents' hearts.  She came from the barn where I keep my show pony.  A little darling accident of a puppy my mother refers to as a "Southern Comfort Terrier."

When we first heard that one of the barn dogs was expecting, my mother was very excited and mentioned that she would like to have one of the little darlings.  Time went by, we didn't see any puppies, and we forgot about it.  Until one day.  That fateful day when I was going to lunch with a friend from the barn and saw a cute little bundle of white fur playing outside the barn worker's house.

I found out the dog was available and called Mom.  Who hesitated.  What?!

The next day, I convinced her to come out and at least meet the little dear.  She agreed and fell in love.

Now here's the part of this story that should give you pause.  My dad hates little dogs.  HATES them.  He makes fun of those people who cart their Chihuahuas around everywhere with them, and feed them treats constantly.  He HATES dogs in the house.  When I had a Chihuahua, Twiggy, (haha, I was one of Them as a 12-year-old) she was not allowed anywhere near my parents bedroom.  Now that you've read that, I should point out that is my father with Sophie in the picture above.  Whhhhaaaaat?

When Mom and I were on the way to their house with Sophie in tow, my mom was panicking.  Despite Dad saying he didn't care if Mom got the dog, she was convinced this was the worst idea ever and wanted to take the dog back.  She didn't.

A few days later, I went by and my dad was laying on his bed watching Judge Judy, with the dog on the bed next to him.  This is the man who didn't like having a dog in the house.

"Is Dad sick and you guys haven't told me?" I asked Mom.

"What are you talking about?" She replied, confused.

"Dad and the dog?"

"Oh, yeah, he put her up there.  Apparently, he really likes her."

That would be an understatement.  This dog is the light of their lives.  After I do or say something stupid, I'm given an exasperated look and then regaled with a tale of how smart and perfect and amazing Sophie is.  I hear more about how great that dog is than anything else.  If I call my Dad, the first thing I hear is a Sophie story.  He has even texted me about her.  Sophie is so smart.  Sophie is so funny.  Sophie is so cute.  Sophie is so athletic.

Suddenly I know what it's like to be the older, disappointment of a daughter.  Second to the dog.  Perfect, darling Sophie.

The Sheep and the Traffic Circle

When my older sister and her guy first started raising grass-fed lamb, Elizabeth purchased a pair of Dorper rams over the internet.  Dorpers are big, hardy sheep.  They are from South Africa, so you know they are tough.  They grow fast -- reaching around 80 pounds at three and a half months.  Big, thick, hardy, delicious sheep.

Elizabeth bought these guys, Chuck and Larry, off of some grainy pictures and a few phone calls.  The sheep were outside of Houston.  Elizabeth lives near Amarillo.  Mom and Dad picked up her sheep and agreed to keep them at the farm until they could deliver them the 525 miles or so to Elizabeth's front door.  Texas...it's a big state.

Remember how I said that Dorpers are big sheep?  When a big sheep gets startled, they just sort of run.  And sometimes that running includes through a barn wall next to the gate.  The next time you are sitting down to grass-fed lamb and feeling a little sorry for the cute little sheep you are eating, picture something big and strong enough that it can run through a barn wall and keep on running.  Not so cute now are they?

Also, if you happen to be in the way of one of these sheep when they decide to leave the premises, they will go right over the top of you.  Picture something big enough to go through a barn wall running over the top of a person.  It's sort of like being hit by the neighbor's hillbilly child on his minibike.  Just WHAM! and then the realization "Did...did I just get run over by a sheep?" as you pick yourself up off the ground. 

They are like athletes as they soar over the gate.  As they race down the road.  As they bowl over the dog and shimmy under the barn gate toward freedom. 

Mom likes sheep.  She has a pet sheep named Andy who basically has run of their property.  She doesn't eat lamb.  She says it is because she doesn't like the way it smells and tastes, but I think it has more to do with the fact that she likes sheep.  Sort of like how I won't eat rabbit.

After Larry went through the barn wall, and his and Chuck's subsequent round-up, Mom had hit her wooly loving limit.  It was time for Chuck and Larry to go meet the ladies of the Texas panhandle.  We hooked up a horse trailer, sheep-proofed it, and hit the road.  Sheep-proofing a two-horse bumper pull trailer is a little redneck.  We bungee-corded a panel across the open part of the trailer to keep the darn things from jumping out. 

Here is the thing about roadtrips with my mom.  Between my mom, the GPS, and me, we are bound to get turned around or lost at least once a trip.  This trip was no exception.

We missed an exit entering whacky Waco, Texas.  There is a traffic circle in Waco.  Two lanes.  Four roads feeding in/out.  Not a daunting structure...especially not at 10:00 on a weekday morning.  Unless you're my mother.

Remember this scene?

That was my mom, my sister, and I.

There was no one else on the traffic circle, but Mom was too afraid to move over.  We must have gone around it five times before we finally got her moved into the correct lane and another two before we managed to get her onto the correct road.

Following the traffic circle debacle, we were late enough to be caught in the lunch rush hour in the DFW area, and didn't even make it to Elizabeth's place until well after dark.  Luckily, both rams were still in the trailer.

Elizabeth met us on the driveway and started to throw open the back door to the trailer before the stress of the trip got to Mom and she yelled something to the affect of "I swear to God, if you lose them after all the shit they've put me through!"

We backed the trailer up to the pasture, opened the gate, and they hit the door running.  As the two white blurs disappeared into the darkness, Mom stood thoughtfully for a minute.  "I hope you have strong fences."

Can You Haiku?

My mother can't.

During my internet exile thanks to my computer's untimely passing, I spent a lot of time reading. I didn't read "real" books. I read trashy romance novels.

To be more specific, I read some of Cassie Edward's Savage Series. As a side note, I'd like to point out that calling these books fantastic fiction is a bit of a stretch. They are trashy, silly, and read like a 14-year-old's God-awful fan fiction.

But, it is all in good fun. My mother makes fun of me constantly for reading these books. (I also read a few of Bonnie Vanak's books, which were way, way, way trashier. Just sayin' Cassie, you may want to step up your game.)

The BEST part of the Savage books is that they usually start off with a Godawful Fan Poem. I am not making this up. This one is from Savage Trust.

Side by side they stand together,
so young so bold and brave
They care not what others think
or what someone may say.
Hands entwined and holding tight
two hearts beating as one
They prepare themselves for the fight
they know soon will come.
Coppertone skin against snow white
their love has been condemned
No one can ever tear them apart
it's true love until the end.

Before anyone points out my punctuation errors, I copied that EXACTLY from the book.

Can you see why I love these books?

Mom and I were driving around one day and after a quick stop at Dollar Tree (where I no longer work, thank God) I had a BRAND NEW copy of a Savage book that I only had to pay a dollar for. I read Mom the poem. She laughed until she almost wrecked into a mailbox. Then Mom suggested we write some poetry to send in to Cassie and maybe get published in a book. Mom suggested a haiku.

Haikus are really simple as proven by this internet-famous haiku. 5 syllable, 7 syllables, 5 syllables. All you have to do to be able to write a haiku is count.

Here is Mom's first attempt at a haiku:
Riding together
On a tall palomino steed
into the sunset forever.
5, 8, 8. Good try, Mom.

Attempt number two wasn't much better:
Riding together
on a midnight black steed
into the sunset for always.
5, 6, 8. She's almost got it.

Again, I pointed out that she had way too many syllables. Again, Mom gave it a try:
Riding together forever
on a midnight black stallion
into the sunset fralways.
8, 7, 7. Wait...what? What the hell is "fralways?" I asked. Her answer was that if you cram the words together into one word than it counts. Again I pointed out that it's the syllables not the number of words. And what happened to the very well done first line?

Mom's response was that it is true art when you bend the rules and she liked her haiku very much, thank you.

The woman is a nut. And her birthday is tomorrow! Happy birthday, Mom!