Certifiable

There are days I think I should pack a bag and sit on the porch to wait for the "men in white coats with butterfly nets."  All day long I was converting "real time" to the "new time."  I got all the clocks in the house changed, but my cell phone refused to make the switch.  I knew just how it felt, but figured it really needed to get in line.  After waiting patiently all day for it to catch up, I finally had to call Deb and Craig.  I'm on their plan and needed their assistance to move the time forward.  I'm still trying to figure out what Daylight Savings Time saved.  It was dark at six in the morning and dark at six at night...duh.

Notwithstanding that Ruffles (and others) had helped themselves to fresh diaper wipes, the bucket was full and needed to be emptied.  I'd seen some of the little critters on the top of the pile, but thought they were just shopping for new bedding.  At nightfall, I brought the bucket up to the trash barrel.  Pulling out clumps of wipes, I suddenly saw movement.  I feel terrible.  I have orphaned a nest of babies down at the bottom of the pail.  I carefully lifted out the nest with hopefully enough surrounding wipes to keep the little ones warm and put it in a safe place in the first shed.  These babies are about half grown, not pink, hairless newborns, but I don't know if they're old enough to forage on their own.  Some enterprising mother mouse had decided to take the easy route instead of dragging a blanket to her house; simply make a home in the blankets.  What person in her right mind would try to save these little vermin?  Who said I was in my right mind?

I should have listened to Bessie Anne.  She'd gone out for a potty run toward sundown.  Then she started barking (she's not really a barky kind of girl) in the driveway.  She sounded pretty serious, so I went to the door to see what had raised her hackles.  I couldn't see anything, so reassured her and went on with whatever I was doing.  Bess quit sounding off so I thought all was well.  Passing a window, my heart leapt into my throat when I saw a stranger walking on the drive.  Living alone in an isolated area, the last thing you expect or want to see is an unannounced pedestrian on the property.  A thousand thoughts ran through my head:  Bessie wasn't barking (had she been silenced in some dreadful way?), do I grab the phone for 911 or go straight for the .38?  The person was far enough away, so I opened the door.  "Can I help you?"  Big sigh of relief.  It was Faye's mama, looking for her runaway girl.  Bess had recognized her.  I did tell Layla that she'd scared the snot out of me and if she were going to walk up here again, please let me know.  I'd rather have the men in white coats than the sheriff's deputies on scene.