The early bird gets the most beautiful view

We were awake, I stuck my head outside. 
It was a really nice morning, so Badger and I laced up our sneakers and hit the road. 
I think around 8:30 in the morning in spring is the best time to take a walk. 
There’s very little traffic, even with the school being right there. 
It’s not yet hot, but not so chilly you can’t stand being outside. 
There’s just this peace to the morning.

We started walking without any plans, and heading all the way to Creek Church wasn’t really on our minds. 
It’s about half a mile from home, so a mile there and back.
Still, we ended up down there watching squirrels. 
There just weren’t as many as there usually are that time of morning.

On the walk down, I looked up at the power line and saw two squirrels just sitting there, frozen, staring at me.
 I told Badger we should just stop and let them be. 
I did not want a squirrel falling on my head.
I can’t imagine Cowboy’s reaction if we had to call him to take us to the hospital because we got a mad squirrel dropping on our heads.

The bigger squirrel slowly inched his way across the power line stretching over the road. 
He got to the other side and disappeared, probably hopping down toward the barn.
The smaller one just sat up there on top of the pole watching big’un go. 
I guess he figured he wasn’t that brave, or maybe not that nuts, because he said nope and scrambled right back into the trees.

I looked up and, holy cow, there were a good ten squirrels running around on the roof of that abandoned house. 
Little’un just went right on up to join them.

Badger and I watched them for a while. 
There wasn’t anyone out to question why we were standing on a sidewalk in front of an abandoned house, seemingly staring at nothing.

Squirrels really do blend in better than you’d think.

Nanny cams, those little security cameras, come in handy sometimes. 
Cowboy woke up at 9:41 am to an empty house, scratched his head, opened the front door, shrugged, and headed to the kitchen.

We made it home a minute after he’d wandered off to the kitchen.
He heard the door open, popped his head out, saw it was just us, and went right back to making his breakfast.
At this point I think he’s accepted that he married a weird woman who raised weird children who do weird things and occasionally just vanish for a while.

At least Lady was happy to see us.

Cowboy ate his breakfast and then settled in for a nap. 
Badger and I rested for a bit, and then she went out to finish my yard sign. 
I stood out there with her, mostly just keeping her company.

She got the post set in the ground, but the pizza pan kept wanting to fall right back off. 
She worked on it forever, and I think she finally got it to stay put as long as nobody bumps it or breathes on it too hard.

Cowboy woke up and went out to take care of the chickens. 
He didn’t say a word about the sign, which surprised me. 
Usually he’s the one complaining he can’t mow around things like that.

The day went on as usual, maybe a little faster.
 It didn’t seem like any time at all before Cowboy was heading to work.

After Cowboy went to work, Badger and I found something for dinner. 
She didn’t feel like cooking, and I burned the chicken. 
Cowboy said he mostly just ate green beans.

I couldn’t eat the chicken even if I wanted to, and Badger wasn’t interested in it either way burned or not.

Badger and I are fine with frozen pizza or ramen noodles, or peanut butter and jelly if it comes down to it.
Cowboy doesn’t really consider it a real meal unless it’s home-cooked meat and two sides.

More than anything, I think that shows the difference in how we grew up. 
He came from a big nuclear family with a stay-at-home mom.
 I was raised by a working divorced mom as an only child.

During summer breaks, when I wasn’t getting school lunch, I’d open a can of cold Chef Boyardee and just eat it straight out of the can. 
That’s probably why I’m not too picky about what counts as a meal.

I grew up in the ’70s and into the early ’80s. 
He grew up in the ’60s and into the early ’70s.

He was 18 in 1978. 
I was 18 in 1988.

Moooving on.

We’ve mostly just been watching TV. 
Badger still says she’s not feeling great.

Badger went ahead and cleaned the cat litter boxes anyway. 
She didn’t want to, but it had to be done. 
With my back, I can scoop, but I can’t do all the bending and lifting that a full clean takes. 
And today, they definitely needed a full clean.

Once that was done and she’d had a shower, it was back to the couch and TV for her.

Heron came home from work early. 
He disappeared into the backyard, then texted us while Badger and I were watching TV. 
He went down and started burning brush.

We’re under fire restrictions right now, and they’re not even giving out burn permits. 
On top of that, it was really windy today.

Luckily no one called the fire department, and he was able to keep it under control.

I told him there were birds nesting in that brush pile and he probably just committed a mass murder. 
He said nothing flew out.
I was about to say they probably didn’t even have time to fly out, and they were likely baby birds. 
But at that point, done is done.

Several employees at the plant Cowboy works at shared the same news station article link on Facebook about an employee at the Texas plant

It was kept pretty vague, but basically he went missing during his shift. 
They started looking for him and eventually found human bones and pieces of clothing.

Mind you, they make bone meal there for pet and poultry feed.

I realize that where Cowboy works is a dangerous place to work.
There’s boiling grease that’s well above the boiling point. 
Even the water hoses they use are at or above boiling temperature, and Cowboy has gotten second‑degree burns from them. 
The boiler can explode. 
Boilers at plants in other states have had explosions. 
They use chemicals. 
The maintenance department has to go into tight spaces, sometimes with moving parts that have to be shut down. 
There’s an electrocution risk.

In all the years we’ve been married, I never pictured the pit as being dangerous.
I always thought it was just a hole in the ground where they slung carcasses.
I didn’t realize it was a whole system with moving parts that carry everything to the bone grinder and then to the boilers or cookers.
I never realized you could trip, fall in, and, if you were lucky, smother before being pulled down the line to the grinder and the cookers.

That’s apparently what happened to that man.
Cowboy says once you’re in, you can’t be rescued.
The system can't be turned off.
Or at least that's how I heard it.

Cowboy’s brother‑in‑law got second‑ and third‑degree burns from boiling grease splashing on him.
He had scars from above his knees all the way up to his face.

We’ve been extremely lucky that Cowboy has never had any serious injuries.

You try not to, but you do worry every time Cowboy goes to work.
 It’s worse when he’s pulling those 16‑ and 17‑hour shifts. 
You know he’s tired and not as alert as he should be.

Tomorrow is store day, so I’m getting off of here and heading to bed.