The Country Life

11 02 2017

Two years ago I moved home after living an entire life in Phoenix Arizona.  For the most part moving home has been on a historically short list of my good ideas.  Edging out trading my 89 Upper Deck Griffey Jr and buying a home two years prior to the largest real estate collapse in modern history.

Living back home, in the country, and more or less across the street from my dad means having to “adjust” to certain situations. The next couple paragraphs will document one such situation.

Just this past week I was sitting at the table on a Saturday.  I had some music playing, I was properly medicated and working on my writing.  When all the sudden in barges my dad, out of breath, dogs are barking going nuts “Quick, grab the .243 there’s a cougar in the lower field!”

To more accurately set the stage, if we all put our 8th grade history caps on for a moment, it was on par with Paul Revere.  The original one if by land two if by sea guy letting me know the Red Coats were coming, not the much loved Beastie Boys jam.

That said, I’m not really what you would consider a “Call to arms” type guy for every situation.  “Come quick somebody’s life is in danger” and I’m on it.   Cougar in the lower field while I come unannounced and completely destroy the relaxed vibe with large adorable cat murder.  Mehh.. That sounds like more of a you problem while I hopelessly spend ten minutes looking for my other flip flop.

 

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