..I don’t feel adopted at all.
I do have a life. All of my days aren’t spent in front of the computer fulfilling the role of adoptee angst referee. For instance, right now I have over 300 heirloom tomato seedlings on my sunporch just waiting for the soil to warm enough to be planted. Mortgage Lifter, Pantano Romanesco, Pineapple, Principe Borghese, Cour Di Bue, etc.
I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do with 300 tomato plants. I have enough room in my garden for maybe 100 of them. I may have to set up with a sign at my town’s only stop light and sell them. Let’s see, if I can get a dollar a piece for them that makes how many Bloody Marys? I’ve always figured my garage sale profits in Margaritas, so I’m using Bloody Marys in this situation.
Oh course my gardening may not be as enjoyable as I had anticipated, my neighbor has obtained a pack of foxhouds. Baying, cat chasing, foxhounds. My neighbor seems to as unaware of leash laws as his dogs are the subtle differences between a cat and a fox. The scene in my yard over the last week has consisted of hearing a disturbance, seeing the cat run by, followed by the pack of fox hounds, followed by every other stray dog in the county. This display followed by my husband, whatever he may be up to, doing a fairly good impression of The Old Man in A Christmas Story. “Damn Bumpes’ dogs!” It begs a yakkity sax soundtrack.
Efforts to contain the dogs are underway. In an ideal scenario they would decide it would be much more fun to chase my neat freak neighbor around (you know the one who powerwashes his roof and vacuums his yard) but I’m doubting this pack of hounds is trainable. Pity.
And then there’s the whole pepper situation…..but that’s another post.