Frank did a little successful hunting yesterday afternoon and brought his kill to the front walkway to play with before making a meal. One of the free-range chickens wandered up to see what he had, and to ask if he'd like to play a little polo as the flock does with their victims. The heat made Frankie cranky, and he got territorial with the hen, who ran squawking. That upset Bess, who, with me, was watching from the house. Bessie is very protective of her chickens. She started yelling to chastise Frank, and then I had to speak to her. It's not hard to see how these dramas snowball out of control.
Go-To called in the late afternoon and said he'd be here early this morning, so I don't know yet how my personal drama with the septic tank is going to end. I just recalled Erma Bombeck's story, "The Grass is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank." Yeah, well.
Judy and I were discussing another difference between here and city living. We commented on hearing a helicopter the other night. That is a rare occurrence at any time, and especially after dark. It undoubtedly was a Life Flight. About the only other time we see or hear helicopters is if there's a fire, or they are checking the power lines going over the mountain. I can see from television news programs that they are as numerous as dragonflies down in the valley. Up here, hearing a chopper is cause to step outside to see, and a subject for conversation.