We gained a new month while we were out “roughing it.”
I can’t believe it’s already September.
Of course, Badger is making sure we know what month it is and what comes in September.
I can’t believe she’s 10 this year.
Time has flown by too quickly.
She’s not really a little girl anymore.
I can already see glimpses of the teen she’s becoming.
I’m a little sad that my last baby is growing up on me.
Of course, you can’t keep them little forever.
The house is still upside down, things are still pulled out of rooms.
But you know what?
I’m exhausted.
I’ll tackle it eventually.
I took the day off and went rambling with Peacock.
Besides, they didn’t have school today, and who can really clean with a bunch of brats running around, even if my brats are of the age they shouldn’t be producing more mess?
There is so much to do: the animal cages need cleaning.
I doubt the outside cats have eaten since Friday morning, and I can’t find their food.
I swear Raven and KS and whatever buddies they had over all weekend had a couple of parties because all my silverware has walked out of the house.
It goes on and on.
Right now I want to go back camping and escape the mess.
OK, pity party done.
We had two fairly bad injuries yesterday.
Peacock was pecking on the bedroom window to get Heron’s attention, and the glass cracked.
He gashed his finger open, and it’s on top of the scar where he degloved his finger a few years back.
It needs stitches, but he has no money and no insurance.
It’s a pretty nasty cut.
I’d say at least four stitches bad.
Luckily, he has had a tetanus shot.
I think.
I would guess they’d give him a tetanus shot after he literally skinned his finger almost to the bone.
Then Cowboy was spraying the house and felt a nip on his rear end, inside his jeans.
He said it felt sticky, but he ignored it.
By bedtime, he was hurting quite a bit.
He took his jeans off to let me see what it was, and the best I can describe it is it’s like a giant burn or road rash.
I’m hoping it’s not a brown recluse or black widow.
We’ll keep Neosporin on it, and if it doesn’t get any better, or it looks any worse, he can suck it up and see his doctor.
I don’t know anything about black widows, but I know you don’t want to mess with a brown recluse.
We just don’t know where his head is.
Well, maybe we do.
We’ll take that rant private.
Sometimes it feels good to get things off your chest, and it feels right at the moment to take it to the blog.
Then after letting it sit for a bit, you decide, nope, get that down.
I really wish Mom was alive.
I could complain to her instead of having to complain to an unfeeling computer screen.
I can’t complain to Cowboy.
He just blinks and walks off.
I swear the guinea pigs and cats also hide when I try to gripe to them.
The goat will listen, but then he has his own complaints, and I don’t think the neighbors appreciate us both out there baaaing.
At least the computer can’t run and hide or talk back to me.
