Marriage: The Cranky Edition

I was up at 7:15 a.m., nothing unusual there—but so was Badger.
That raises an eyebrow a bit; she walked into the living room to tell me to take my pill early.
Then she disappeared back into her hobbit hole.

Just before 8 a.m., Badger emerged at a rather fast clip and headed to the front door.
The nutty thing ordered us breakfast from Burger King and had it delivered.
I told her I thought she inhaled a little too much paint yesterday—but boy, that burrito was good! (And welcomed.)

She and I watched The Heartland Series until she woke up a bit—she loves the old Appalachian stories.
Then she headed to the front porch to finish up painting the outer door.
I don't know what kind of scrap metal Cowboy made that door out of, but it doesn't hold paint well.

Cowboy eventually stumbled out of bed.
He might’ve been a little suspicious about breakfast showing up in a bag.
Badger and I aren’t supposed to be able to drive.

Today was a crabby day for the Cowboy.
I slapped on my noise-cancelling headphones, and Badger retreated to her room.
I'm finding old men to be rather moody.

My grandpa died a month before my eighth birthday.
I don't remember living with him—childhood trauma has stolen a lot of my early memories.
I grew up around old women—when I was eight, my Granny was sixty-eight.
I divided my time between her and her two sisters.
They were hateful and cranky; BB liked to pinch—hard—but I don't remember them complaining about every little thing.
Cowboy complains about everything.

Only poets say that marriage is sunshine and roses all the time.
Sometimes it’s crabby old men and old women threatening to smack them upside the head if they don’t hush up.

Cowboy eventually went outside to mow and weed-eat.
I think he achieves a bit of zen on the mower.

I scheduled a vet appointment for Smudge—the only time they had was 12 p.m.
Strangely, Cowboy didn’t fuss.
I think he learned his lesson after the last sick vet visit, when he complained and Badger told him if he ever got sick, she wouldn’t take him to the doctor, and he could see how he liked it.
Besides, Badger saves up money from her check to pay for the vet—it’s not coming out of Cowboy’s pocket.
All we need him for is the ride.

We’re hoping Smudge doesn’t need more teeth pulled—she’s been getting steadily worse, though.
Badger’s been saving for two years just in case.
We’ve already had four or five of her teeth pulled.
Smudge is turning out to be the most expensive cat we’ve ever owned.

Cowboy gripes about the expense, and he’s not wrong—vets are very expensive.
We don’t qualify for credit.
People say, “Oh, just apply for the pet credit,” but we can’t.
We’ve tried.
Unfortunately, my zoo goes without routine vet care, but if they become sick, we take them in.
We do try to keep up with the rabies vaccines.
We know some people think we look like poor pet owners.
Some will say we should’ve never gotten the pets if we weren’t going to take care of them.
But we love our pets.
They’re well taken care of—they just don’t run to the vet unless they absolutely need it.

Growing up, our town vet saw any animal who needed help.
If you didn’t have money, he’d let you pay later—or take barter: honey, a side of ham, eggs.
You wouldn’t see a modern vet do that today.

The day marched forward as days do.
Cowboy was heading to work before we turned around twice.

Heron got home from his girlfriend’s, grabbed his dog, and headed to House Mountain.
He took a four-hour hike—he timed it—and sent me a picture.
Oh my gosh!
That’s a hike I don’t volunteer for.
I think he said it’s the highest point in Knox County.

Badger and I walked down to the library—the paint fumes were getting to us.
The front door is still giving off strong fumes.

We came home, she grabbed Duffy—Lady was off hiking with Heron—and headed to the backyard.
I stayed on the computer, of course.

The mosquitoes drove Badger inside, so she headed to her room—and hasn’t emerged.

Heron and Lady limped home.
He hopped in the shower, said he was going to his RV to lie down—but he’d be back up.
I haven’t seen him since.
Lady hasn’t moved off the dog bed.
She didn’t even wag her tail when Heron left.

I think I'll start the dishwasher and go read more of my book series.