There wasn’t much to say about the day.
It was another long stay‑inside winter day.
The temperature never climbed out of the low forties, and the wind blew almost nonstop.
It feels like we get more windy days now than calm days.
Heron headed to his girlfriend’s house early.
Badger wanted to go down as soon as he left and put his cats inside.
I told her we’d wait until Cowboy went to work because I had to turn the heat on, and propane is expensive.
We needed to hold off on heating the RV as long as we could to conserve fuel.
We finally went down about 4 p.m., and that RV was as cold as a refrigerator.
All four cats were huddled inside.
It was too cold outside for them, but the inside wasn’t any better.
I’ve kept an eye on the temperature, and they’ve held a steady 64 degrees once the heat got turned on.
Cowboy didn’t get out of bed until 10 a.m., and with him going to work at 2:30 p.m., it made the day go by fast.
His saw finally came in, so he went down to get it and spent most of the morning putting it together.
Of course the chickens still have to be fed and watered, and in the winter that’s no small job.
Water has to be carried from the house down to the coops, and sometimes Cowboy has to make two or three trips.
As Badger said, he kept hunting hounds for a long time, and they were like chickens that needed to be taken care of.
Then the old ones started to die off.
Their children inherited the land and decided to sell, and subdivisions went up on what used to be hunting land.
So Cowboy sold his hounds, and that left a void he didn’t know how to fill.
His dad was a hunter and always had hounds, and all Cowboy knew, I think, was how to take care of a pack of them.
So he couldn’t hunt anymore, no place to do it, and he had a void.
But he had sons hitting those always‑hungry teen years, so he bought a chicken to make sure we always had eggs.
One chicken became two, and two became twenty, and his void was filled.
He’ll still look sad and tell you he misses hunting.
He and his dad and his uncles were non‑violent, no‑kill fox hunters.
The Appalachian way, where the fox always gets away.
Dolly Parton turned 80 years old today, and if you want to talk about something that blows your mind a little, she’s the same age Uncle should be.
He was born in November ’45, and she was born in January ’46.
I’ve been watching the weather closely.
Normally, this far out, it’s all hype and nothing comes of it, but right now nearly every meteorologist agrees we might get a major winter storm this weekend.
Whether it’s ice, snow, or a mix, they still don’t know.
I’m just being honest, when the weather gets bad, the roads don’t get plowed, and we’re stuck until it melts some.
The power goes out too, and sometimes it stays off for days.
I just hope it comes in Thursday night instead of Friday night.
Badger and I have been watching TV all evening, and our show is just about over.
We’re almost at the end of the whole series.
Badger joked that our next binge needs to be something American.
I think we’re both starting to sound a little British or maybe even Scottish.
Cowboy said he’s working over tonight.
OK, let’s head to bed.
Tomorrow is our last free day.
Then Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday are all doctor appointments, and before we know it the weekend will be here again.
