A Plethora of Chickens – A Dearth of Bumper Stickers and A Possibility

Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

An old pal of the tromp-up-and-down-mountains persuasion sent me that pic as part of several in an email forward to encourage me to adopt the same religion as his.  But I think it’s PhotoShopped.  I studied that pic a longish while and can’t see any way in the normal course of events a truck frame could be bent to that configuration without doing more damage to the pilot, the cabin, even the landing gear.  As a consequence, I took a pass on the religion part.

But he’s an old guy, working on a farm up in Dakota.  Thinks he’s tard, same as I’ve noticed as the heat set in that I’m tard, too.  So we still have quite a bit in common, I reckons.  I’m figuring if I want to get things involving physical labor done I’m going to have to do them mornings and evenings, or pay the price by taking it easier than  I wish several days afterward.

I’ve got a hen, an Australorp, I’d thought had all the instincts bred out of her long before her great-grandma hatched, but she’s spang decided to go religious on me.  Gone broody, me soothing her while she grumbles and I pull the eggs out from under, leaving only two chalk eggs and a golf ball for her to nurture.  I donealready have all the chickens I need around here.  A plethora of chickens.

Jeanne’s not going to be tending this blog for a while because she’s taken time off her jobs and gone on a road trip.  Called me last night from Tucumcari, the entry-point to where things get good, geography-wise.  I’d asked her to keep a tally on bumper stickers on the highway, because of the strange vanishing act they’ve pulled in the Texas Hill Country.  She reported that from Olathe, Kansas to Tucumcari she didn’t see a single one, and she was watching.

Sometime last week I went into Kerrville for groceries and watched bumpers there.  Never saw the like during a national election year, king-election year.  The only ones I saw, two of them, were of the DUMP THE CURRENT KING [with nuances indicating too much skin-pigment to make a good king].  I assume the folks with those stickers prefer to be lied to and stolen from by rich white men, as opposed to having it done to them by [most likely] rich men of color.

I did see quite a number of ribbons demanding drivers SUPPORT OUR UNDECLARED PRESIDENTIAL WARS, but even those appear  to be diminishing in numbers.

But I did find a 1977 GMC school bus for sale I might be able to dicker down enough to squeeze into my life.  It’s rough enough I don’t think anyone’s going to rush out and buy it, so I have a bit of time to ponder how I might manage it.  Exciting prospect.  If the Coincidence Coordinators think it’s what I ought to do, it just might be the ticket to my Escape Route.

The cats aren’t crazy about the prospects, but they aren’t as adept as me at looking at the alternatives.  They’ll like that bus, I figure, a lot more than they’d like trying to live in a tent under a bridge somewhere. 

All in all, everything’s looking up.  Especially the part about bumper stickers.

Old Jules

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