I like when this time of year comes around. It's warm enough to put clothes out on the line. I like the feel of the clothes whipped by the wind. I like the whites that the sun bleaches even whiter. I like the smell of the fresh...........dog poo? That's right, my "beloved" dogs have taken it on themselves to poop under my clothes line. NOT GOOD!!!!!! So before I could hang my clothes on the line, I had to clean ALL the dog poo out from under it. And believe me, there was a bunch! After cleaning it, then I had to wait a few days for the smell to go away. Luck was with me and it rained that night. So today, I get to hang my clothes out on the clothes line. (That is unless they have presented me with another pile. Grrrrr!)
Speaking of dogs, after my dad found out what kind of dogs I had, he told me a story about one year when he went turkey hunting. My dad is a great hunter. He can hunt down, track down, or call in, any kind of creatures. I think he's part blood hound. He said he was sitting next to a tree calling in some turkeys that he heard gobbling. He would hear them for a bit and then they just stopped. Then he heard something russel in the leaves. He said it sounded like it was coming closer. Maybe it was the turkeys?
Well, as the sound kept getting closer he peered into the woods hoping to see some spread feathers and a blue head of a turkey. No, what did he see? Two Great Pyrenees dogs and a black dog of unknown breed. They were getting closer to him. Almost stalking him. Now Great Pyrenees can sometimes be aggressive. Especially if they think their "flock" is in danger. The first GP and the black dog spotted him and barked at him, but took off into the woods. The second stoped and stared. Head lowered, just staring. He started to stalk closer and closer. Not breaking eye contact. Dad thought, " Great, I'm gonna have to kill this thing or it's gonna kill me first."
It stalked closer and closer. Dad, not really wanting to kill it, picked up a stick. The dog kept coming slowly closer and closer, head lowered, not taking his eyes off of Dad. Dad threw the stick hoping to scare the dog.
The dog pricked up it's head, bounded toward the stick, picked it up in his mouth, and brought it back to Dad wiggling his tail like he had done the greatest thing in the world. Dad just petted the dog and decided that his hunting was done for the day.
So until next time,
Small Farm Girl, clothes hanger.