Cowboy here. The imp is beside herself with joy, into more mischief than usual, more mischief than the nonsense she pulls during “run amok week.” This is because my right hand was injured, a while before it’s completely healed. I’m keeping score; eventually someone I know walking around, a silly grin pasted on that sweet face, is up for some real retribution come hell or high water. You can bank on it. I told the imp my left hand was worthy. Sar fell over laughing at that remark. Now and again I notice she’s giggling for no reason.
Life continues – normal days plus bursts of chaos and mayhem – never a dull moment around that birbantella of mine. The newest dog, a Malinois shepherd was getting along with all the cats, changed its mind one evening, growled at one of them. The tomcat jumped on the dog’s head, basically beat the crap out of the dog until Sar stepped in. Dog got the message; peace reigns again. So! Life in on an even keel; back from Alberta. Doorbell rings while Sar is out shopping. Did I mention I married a birbantella?
Two guys are on my doorstep. One’s a Royal Mountie, the other looks like an Aussie ranch hand. They have paperwork for me to sign prior to taking ownership of a wild mustang. A wild mustang! That’s a horse in case you thought it was a Ford vehicle. I must have muttered something intelligible that got rid of them because my head was immediately filled with… “when I get my hands on her!”
Then I remembered my injured hand… that woman really pushed some limits. 1/The neighborhood covenants do not include horses as pets. 2/Neither do I. 3/Wasn’t planning on renting stable accommodations for a wild mustang. 4/Where in blazes was the imp planning to take it to tame it, etc? 5/Was she going to break her neck when the horse threw her off its back? 6/My left hand can accomplish a great deal!
Miss Innocent arrives home, a load of groceries in the car. I wait until all is put away. I casually mention the paperwork about a horse I specifically said was not imminent in our lives in this life time or the next. The imp raises an eyebrow in my direction; I cross my arms, give the imp a stern look. Sar giggles. Couldn’t help myself; burst out laughing, gave her a good hard swat using my LEFT hand. The imp runs out to the backyard; sics the Neo on me, climbs a tree.
I climb up after her, grab her, etc. Sar leans back in my arms…. Wait for it!
She says “ so when will the mustang arrive?”
It was easy enough to hold her in my right arm while my left hand made threatening gestures. I’m getting too old to climb trees; yeah, the imp keeps me young.
Other thoughts: A few questions some of you have asked over time.
Why do I hire Marines to protect my wife? Do you really think I’d put a well-trained Navy SEAL in a dangerous situation? I’ve seen Sar incapacitate Marines in a matter of seconds. They’re always amused to be watching over a pint-sized woman that I warn them about until they go against her wishes, breaks a few fingers, knocks a knee out of joint or puts them into severe intestinal distress. David says they should get combat pay; I agree. Sar’s a dangerous opponent when crossed. The kicker is the smile on that sweet face when she gets her way. I married a birbantella.
You asked how Sar can eat junk food and not gain weight. Sar has a high metabolic rate; burns calories while asleep. Also, she dances every day; jogs almost every day, lives life in double time. That burns a lot of calories.
How long have we been married? Not long enough; it will never be long enough.
Cowboy
Quick note: Sar posted a novella in the vanilla section of her fiction website - Tune the Violin, a favorite story filled with rich characters, a bit of history. Hope you enjoy reading it.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Spring!
Spring happened! It seems like overnight the mountains were brownish with snow caps – in between the evergreens – and the few deciduous trees and shrubs in the yard – in between the evergreens - were without leaves. We had a few really vicious thunderstorms (my kind of weather) and on the first almost drizzle-free morning, daffodils and other bulbs popped up through the ground. Flowers are starting to bloom everywhere; squirrels are plentiful and Woody Woodpecker and his family are back banging on the tops of the Douglas firs. My feeders are full of seed and suet and the dogs and I are anticipating rollies on the back lawn.
The giant squid is anticipating catching me. He doesn’t care if the dogs roll down the hill. Honestly folks, he was toilet trained far too early in life.
SWAT!
We have a new dog; a Belgium Malinois. That’s like a German Shepherd but from another country. Malinois are really smart pooches, a little smaller than a typical Shepherd and very easily trained. This one was not taken care of as well as it should have been, needs a lot of positive reinforcement and praise. He’s so lovable I don’t know how anyone could have mistreated him. So far, Henry Canuk, the homeless feline I found on the beach in Cape Breton, has taken him under his wing so to speak. I don’t know any Belgium words but the animal seems to understand Canadian French (which Henry speaks fluently but then he’s an articulate cat.) The giant squid understands some French – he’s fluent in other languages – said Henry knows too many naughty words. I wondered how Cowboy knew those words were naughty if he’s not fluent in French. Hmmm… Oh wait! I know why. He’s a sailor.
SWAT!
We were out of the country for a few weeks; went to the Baltics. Cowboy has friends there. The food was outrageously wonderful; I got a few new recipes. It’s amazing how much Western influence has changed this area since the Iron Curtain came down - a lot of entrepreneurs, a lot of kiosks, a lot of lovely wares. I met a few gypsy dancers and felt right at home; however, not one of them would admit to dancing naked under a full moon. That was a disappointment.
Vi and Glory are doing okay; without Max, there’s a huge void in their daily lives – mine too. Some locals have hit on them; they’re both beautiful women but savvy about life so I’m not worried. Vi is a kick boxer and very skilled in one of the martial arts; Max taught Glory how to box and Cowboy taught both of them where all the pressure points are on a man’s body. I think the men in Gulfport are just enamored of Vi/Glory’s good looks and the fact that Glory is a 5-star chef. Anything for a good home cooked meal.
We’re up in Alberta, Canada at the moment. There’s a wild mustang roundup. These horses are absolutely magnificent. Of course I want one. Of course the giant squid said no. I’m positive I could train one as easily as I train dogs but the Neanderthal I live with still says no. I’m checking into the neighborhood covenants to see if a horse is okay and whether or not I can get hay/alfalfa/oats delivered on a regular basis. As for treats, we grow apples here in Washington State. Sugar cubes are in the grocery stores and just think! Horses like carrots and I don’t! This could work out wonderfully! Naturally, I’d share my Twinkies (but not my chocolates.)
I’m sure the local vet won’t have a problem with a horse and there’s some guy – I think he’s called a furrier (which is nicer than some words he could be called) could take care of horse shoes or whatever it is they wear on their hooves. I really need to research all this on the Internet. I’m sure Bull would help me out; he’s from Arkansas. I’m positive they have horses in that state. I know it’s filled with a lot of horse manure…
A really awful thing happened shortly after we arrived in Alberta. Personally, I thought it was hilarious; Cowboy had a different view. We were in a paddock area oohing and aahing over a pretty mare. Cowboy stroked the horse’s neck; something startled the big beast and it slammed its shoulder into the side of the paddock – catching Cowboy’s right hand and bruising it. Tsk. What an absolute shame that was, not!
So-o-o-o I’m trying to decide on a mustang. If you think of a really great name, let me know. Also, please send healing thoughts to the giant squid. He’s going to be miserable until that hand heals.
~Sar~
The giant squid is anticipating catching me. He doesn’t care if the dogs roll down the hill. Honestly folks, he was toilet trained far too early in life.
SWAT!
We have a new dog; a Belgium Malinois. That’s like a German Shepherd but from another country. Malinois are really smart pooches, a little smaller than a typical Shepherd and very easily trained. This one was not taken care of as well as it should have been, needs a lot of positive reinforcement and praise. He’s so lovable I don’t know how anyone could have mistreated him. So far, Henry Canuk, the homeless feline I found on the beach in Cape Breton, has taken him under his wing so to speak. I don’t know any Belgium words but the animal seems to understand Canadian French (which Henry speaks fluently but then he’s an articulate cat.) The giant squid understands some French – he’s fluent in other languages – said Henry knows too many naughty words. I wondered how Cowboy knew those words were naughty if he’s not fluent in French. Hmmm… Oh wait! I know why. He’s a sailor.
SWAT!
We were out of the country for a few weeks; went to the Baltics. Cowboy has friends there. The food was outrageously wonderful; I got a few new recipes. It’s amazing how much Western influence has changed this area since the Iron Curtain came down - a lot of entrepreneurs, a lot of kiosks, a lot of lovely wares. I met a few gypsy dancers and felt right at home; however, not one of them would admit to dancing naked under a full moon. That was a disappointment.
Vi and Glory are doing okay; without Max, there’s a huge void in their daily lives – mine too. Some locals have hit on them; they’re both beautiful women but savvy about life so I’m not worried. Vi is a kick boxer and very skilled in one of the martial arts; Max taught Glory how to box and Cowboy taught both of them where all the pressure points are on a man’s body. I think the men in Gulfport are just enamored of Vi/Glory’s good looks and the fact that Glory is a 5-star chef. Anything for a good home cooked meal.
We’re up in Alberta, Canada at the moment. There’s a wild mustang roundup. These horses are absolutely magnificent. Of course I want one. Of course the giant squid said no. I’m positive I could train one as easily as I train dogs but the Neanderthal I live with still says no. I’m checking into the neighborhood covenants to see if a horse is okay and whether or not I can get hay/alfalfa/oats delivered on a regular basis. As for treats, we grow apples here in Washington State. Sugar cubes are in the grocery stores and just think! Horses like carrots and I don’t! This could work out wonderfully! Naturally, I’d share my Twinkies (but not my chocolates.)
I’m sure the local vet won’t have a problem with a horse and there’s some guy – I think he’s called a furrier (which is nicer than some words he could be called) could take care of horse shoes or whatever it is they wear on their hooves. I really need to research all this on the Internet. I’m sure Bull would help me out; he’s from Arkansas. I’m positive they have horses in that state. I know it’s filled with a lot of horse manure…
A really awful thing happened shortly after we arrived in Alberta. Personally, I thought it was hilarious; Cowboy had a different view. We were in a paddock area oohing and aahing over a pretty mare. Cowboy stroked the horse’s neck; something startled the big beast and it slammed its shoulder into the side of the paddock – catching Cowboy’s right hand and bruising it. Tsk. What an absolute shame that was, not!
So-o-o-o I’m trying to decide on a mustang. If you think of a really great name, let me know. Also, please send healing thoughts to the giant squid. He’s going to be miserable until that hand heals.
~Sar~
Sunday, April 07, 2013
Imp's Fury
Cowboy here. Don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that the imp has a temper – a serious temper. Outside of the occasional pout or under her breath mutterings about squids, bullies, baboon buttheads, Neanderthals, it’s a rare event that causes Sar’s temper to reach a boiling point. I thank the good Lord that fury wasn’t aimed in my direction.
Are you laughing yet? I know most of you are aware that my stealth (sneaky) warrior woman is pint sized next to me but that doesn’t mean Sar’s an easy pushover. It’s amazing how powerful a woman can be that weighs slightly over 100 lbs. I’ve seen women in the military use their highly trained maneuvers to take down a man twice their size. I’ve seen them use minimum effort to best an opponent that seemed overwhelming. Also, I’ve seen my wife lose her temper, curse, spit, fight dirty. Sar doesn’t recognize any rules of decent behavior when she’s mad as a wet hen.
So, we’re at a gathering of dogs, their handlers and owners – on base – all military, active and retired - watching obedience trials, agility trials plus just plain funny, dumb dog tricks. Lots of youngsters, families, old Neanderthals like me. Plenty of dogs, mostly large breeds, all on leads strutting their stuff.
We’re watching another agility trial. When it’s over, a dog that didn’t do as well as its owner expected – a Belgium Malinois, its owner a Marine Lt. Colonel on active duty – starts to beat his dog with the other end of the leash. The dog is cowering; the Colonel is cursing; my wife races toward the pair on Pegasus’ wings. Sar comes up behind the Colonel - - -
Did I ever mention Sar’s a kick boxer?
The imp has a look on her face that says the man is dead meat. She jump kicks the 6-foot, 200+ lb. man in the middle of his back. He goes down; the imp kicks a knee out of joint, grabs the dog’s lead, yells for an MP.
Chaos ensues. Folks are yelling at the Marine, cheering Sar.
The MP’s take the Colonel in hand – conduct unbecoming, etc.
Sar soothes the dog.
Base Commandant announces ice cream is on the house.
Sar tells me the Malinois belongs to us now until it’s ready to go to a new home. Our Neo, Sweetie snuggles up to the MALE Malinois. I swear that animal is gay.
I tell the imp she could have been hurt. I’ll discuss this further when we’re home. Sar says it wasn’t such a big deal; it wasn’t as if she maimed the guy. Sar’s version of maiming vs my version of maiming seem to differ at bit.
Other news: The imp and I have been traveling a bit. Visited friends overseas, spent time in the Baltics, ate a lot of good food. Sar’s been back/forth to Gulfport, MS to visit Vi and Glory. The ladies are being encouraged to write a bit of their life history; Sar has already written some of it accounting for the time they lived together. The stories make me ache a bit for the childhood she had, also for the childhood she should have had. Sar sees it differently, recounts all the good times to hold onto.
Just before we went out of the country, the imp was able to get several truck-loads of snow delivered from the Olympic mountains to our yard. Yeah, anatomically correct snow people – some of them monstrous in size – neighbors were appalled as well as delighted. Bull helped the imp; that man will do anything to stay on Sar’s good side. Bull’s mantra: She cooks. I eat.
Finally, we’re home. Spring is showing signs of happening. Sar is dancing again, climbing trees to wave to God, cooking, baking, working in the garden. Our home is full: 2 dogs, 4 cats, a retired sailor and marine, a very busy imp.
I’m content.
Cowboy
Are you laughing yet? I know most of you are aware that my stealth (sneaky) warrior woman is pint sized next to me but that doesn’t mean Sar’s an easy pushover. It’s amazing how powerful a woman can be that weighs slightly over 100 lbs. I’ve seen women in the military use their highly trained maneuvers to take down a man twice their size. I’ve seen them use minimum effort to best an opponent that seemed overwhelming. Also, I’ve seen my wife lose her temper, curse, spit, fight dirty. Sar doesn’t recognize any rules of decent behavior when she’s mad as a wet hen.
So, we’re at a gathering of dogs, their handlers and owners – on base – all military, active and retired - watching obedience trials, agility trials plus just plain funny, dumb dog tricks. Lots of youngsters, families, old Neanderthals like me. Plenty of dogs, mostly large breeds, all on leads strutting their stuff.
We’re watching another agility trial. When it’s over, a dog that didn’t do as well as its owner expected – a Belgium Malinois, its owner a Marine Lt. Colonel on active duty – starts to beat his dog with the other end of the leash. The dog is cowering; the Colonel is cursing; my wife races toward the pair on Pegasus’ wings. Sar comes up behind the Colonel - - -
Did I ever mention Sar’s a kick boxer?
The imp has a look on her face that says the man is dead meat. She jump kicks the 6-foot, 200+ lb. man in the middle of his back. He goes down; the imp kicks a knee out of joint, grabs the dog’s lead, yells for an MP.
Chaos ensues. Folks are yelling at the Marine, cheering Sar.
The MP’s take the Colonel in hand – conduct unbecoming, etc.
Sar soothes the dog.
Base Commandant announces ice cream is on the house.
Sar tells me the Malinois belongs to us now until it’s ready to go to a new home. Our Neo, Sweetie snuggles up to the MALE Malinois. I swear that animal is gay.
I tell the imp she could have been hurt. I’ll discuss this further when we’re home. Sar says it wasn’t such a big deal; it wasn’t as if she maimed the guy. Sar’s version of maiming vs my version of maiming seem to differ at bit.
Other news: The imp and I have been traveling a bit. Visited friends overseas, spent time in the Baltics, ate a lot of good food. Sar’s been back/forth to Gulfport, MS to visit Vi and Glory. The ladies are being encouraged to write a bit of their life history; Sar has already written some of it accounting for the time they lived together. The stories make me ache a bit for the childhood she had, also for the childhood she should have had. Sar sees it differently, recounts all the good times to hold onto.
Just before we went out of the country, the imp was able to get several truck-loads of snow delivered from the Olympic mountains to our yard. Yeah, anatomically correct snow people – some of them monstrous in size – neighbors were appalled as well as delighted. Bull helped the imp; that man will do anything to stay on Sar’s good side. Bull’s mantra: She cooks. I eat.
Finally, we’re home. Spring is showing signs of happening. Sar is dancing again, climbing trees to wave to God, cooking, baking, working in the garden. Our home is full: 2 dogs, 4 cats, a retired sailor and marine, a very busy imp.
I’m content.
Cowboy
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