White Trash

The other day I walked Huey for the first time in a while and noticed more litter than usual by the roadside. I am not sure what possessed me to snap photographs of every piece of trash up and down the ridge, but I did. I took 59 photos. Here are a few:

At first I thought I might post a photo of everything people had tossed out their car windows, but decided against it because it would make this blog too long. Instead, I used them to analyze and profile the habits of the resident redneck litterers. Some findings such as the beer cans, soft-pack cigarette wrappers, and Slim Jim wrapper were to be expected. Others such as the pumpkin seeds and V8 juice container were not.

Here are the highlights of my modern-day archeological expedition:

• Beer drinkers are the worst offenders.
• Bud Light is the beer of choice, judging by the five cans and one bottle cap I found.
• Natty Light, Budweiser, PBR, and Michelob Ultra scored only one point each.
• Smokers are the second-worst offenders.
• Marlboro is the smoke of choice, as evidenced by the five crumpled wrappers I found.
• Camels are the second choice with only one wrapper in the mix.
• Soft packs rule.
• One empty round of Grizzly chewing tobacco.
• McDonald's beat out Taco Bell in the fast-food category, and surprisingly, Sonic didn't have a showing.
• In the soft-drink category, Coca-Cola and Mountain Dew tied with two showings each.
• Two empty water bottles.
• One BP coffee cup.
• Minute Maid Orange and V-8 also tied at one each in the juice division.
• In the snack food department, there was one each of Slim Jim, pumpkin seeds, a Power Bar, Snickers, a Sponge Bob patty, Doritos Nacho Cheese, and salted peanuts.
• Under miscellaneous was a pile of junk mail under a mailbox and a phone book.
• One electronics ad.
• One empty live bait package.
• One piece of aluminum pipe.
• One strip of nylon package binding.
• One Matchbox racer.
• One Kong squeaky tennis ball for dogs.
• One marker for a begonia plant.
• Several used tissues, straws, Styrofoam cups, plastic wrap, and a dried wet nap.

Surprisingly, no condom wrappers or spent condoms were found on this expedition. Although three coat hangers were found clustered together, which hopefully were not used as methods of de facto birth control. But you won't catch me complaining if these people stopped breeding altogether.

How I Broke a Fingernail (or What Happens When a Stray Shows Up in My Yard Before I've Had My Coffee)

I realize the title of this blog is a mouthful, but welcome to my world.

The story starts out with a poor night of sleep, because I was hacking, wheezing, and coughing in spite of the NyQuil I took to keep me from ripping out sutures from a recent surgery. Suffice it to say, I spent most of the night by the fire on the sofa trying to sit up and sleep to old Frasier episodes on Netflix.

Sometime around 4 a.m., I went back to bed to try and sleep, which I was finally able to do. Then at 6, I got up and let Sally and Delaney out because Sally was whimpering. Then I went back to bed. I thought it was around 8 a.m. when all the commotion started, but the battery is dying on my alarm clock so it was more like 9, which means it was probably more like 7 when I let the dogs out.

Huey was barking and wreaking general havoc in the great room so I leaped out of bed to see what was wrong. First thing I saw was fresh blood tracked all over my flooring, from one of Delaney's claws that had broken. Out of my front window, I saw Delaney and Sally prancing about with a new dog, something that looked like a husky mix with calico cat markings. So I grabbed my iPhone so I could snap a photo of the stray and post it on Facebook and opened the door. That is when the fun began. Huey charged at the crack in the open door and was trying to burst out. I tried to grab his choke chain, but my reflexes were too slow and off he went. He ripped the nail on my middle finger (a fitting metaphor) of my right hand way down in the bed and left some nice skid marks with his claws on my left foot on his way out the door.

And they were off.

I won't tell you the words running through my head that I was thinking about the dog owner because I knew someone would be thinking the same about me because Huey would soon be in their yard chasing chickens or worse.

So I grabbed my keys and wallet and jumped into the trusty Outback to hunt down the little bugger. All this before one sip of coffee, too.

I drove around the loop twice searching for him, only to be chased by the wild pack over on the corner of Bald Eagle and Whippoorwill.

I didn't see him at either of his two girlfriends' houses or the Chicken Lady's house, so I came back home. That's when the phone rang. He was over at Bootsie's, his old running buddy. When I drove up, he came running and hopped in the back seat as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

And, of course, it hadn't.