Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Do You Know the Muffit Man?

He lives on Prairie Lane!
~ Lyrics courtesy of Devon

The other night I sent Damon out to empty the kitchen trash. This is a pretty normal activity for him, since he's my #1 Trash Fella.

He came back in cackling, having startled a cat in the process of ransacking our garbage. In this case, "startled" translated into "climbing the telephone pole".

A few minutes later, he and Devon crept back out, hoping to "startle" the cat again. And so they did. I don't blame them for their excitement. For many years now, we have had a cat-killing dog. Word spread around the neighborhood feline population, and we had very few visitors. Certainly none that climbed telephone poles. (Mayer lives in a new home in California now, with his own irrigation ditch to swim in. We felt that a west coast outdoor dog would have a difficult adjustment to being a Montana outdoor dog. There's quite a difference between +30 and -60!)

The next time, the boys took Clancy. Clancy chases cats, not eats them. Maybe a nibble once in a while, but no more. Well, this time they caught larger prey than feral felines. With a bay and a lunge, Clancy took off after the deer, racing off into the night.

A few minutes later there was still no sign of him, so Damon and Devon went out to look. They were gone for quite a while, considering that one of them was scared of the dark. In fact, not realizing they were still out hunting, I turned off all the porch and entryway lights.

A few minutes later a light bobbed up the driveway. They had found their prodigal and returned home, huddled together in the sub-freezing temperatures, holding aloft a lantern like a double Diogenes.

That little story ended with a sawed-off milk carton set out full of cat food. Poor Diesel didn't have any left, and I had to buy him some more. If the neighborhood cats don't get it, the raccoons will.

November 28, 2009

Damon has been sick with a fever for several days. At first I thought he might be trying to milk out a couple extra days of vacation, but no, he was really sick. He couldn't possibly have held soap under his arms for 3 days running.

Having been asked to sing special music Thanksgiving night at the Lutheran church here in town, I made all my plans accordingly. Late in the day yesterday, I found out the program was actually in a couple of hours. All right, well I can roll with that.

When I got there, they started the program, following their bulletin to the letter. I read it repeatedly, but there was no mention of any special music at all, never mind my one little song. I stayed for most of the program, but still no music, and no sign of the person who had asked me to sing. Oh dear, oh dear. Feeling very awkward, I finally decided to duck out a few minutes before the end of the program.

The offering afforded the perfect opportunity. With all eyes turned elsewhere, I sneaked out the door, slipped outside, and began tiptoeing to the car. Just then, a side door burst open, and to my horror I saw the pastor, in full ecclesiastical garments, running to stop me. Since I had seen her moments before, alone on the platform, it wasn't hard to guess that my stealthy departure had suddenly become most conspicuous.

As we walked in together, she explained that she had been just about to call for me, and when she looked up, I was gone. Since the floor didn't open up and swallow me, I went ahead and sang. I'm sure the bright glow came entirely from my beautiful crimson cashmere sweater. It went well despite everything, and several people even asked me to come back.

I promised not to sneak away again.

The next adventure has already happened,
Noni Beth


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