Two Whips And A Horn

A couple of weeks ago, Dee's elder son had a traffic violation for which he needed to appear in court.  Dee went to support Alex & I went to support them both.  Fortunately I have had very little experience being in court but I suppose that this being a hot morning in the South that it caused visions of Atticus Finch & chifferobes to dance through my head.

Everyone else appeared normally dressed and then Alex's lawyer arrived.  He was in a pink & white seersucker suit and white bucks, wearing a diamond earring and carrying his white boater and briefcase.  I wondered if perhaps there was to be a "Music Man" flash mob later of which we were unaware (although I'm a realist and somehow knew the chances of that were quite small indeed). It wasn't the seersucker suit per se, I have a friend in Montana that can rock the seersucker/white buck/white boater like nobody's business but it's always been the blue & white and he may even have the tan & white but I didn't think that the pink & white had ever been made in adult sizes since the last time I can ever remember seeing it, it was the pattern of the matching bathrobes from Best & Company my younger siblings & I wore in the summer of 1965.  I should also mention that the lawyer bore more than a passing resemblance to Mr. Haney from "Green Acres".

But in the end, what matters is years of doing business and making contacts - the details were sorted out quickly and fairly and off we went.

Meantime, a few days later, back at the farm, Dee solved the mystery of the missing guinea hens. A couple of the guinea chicks had started disappearing but there was no dog nor hound nor cat nor coyote nor fox, (fine - I'll stop saying "nor") that could get in or out of that coop. Dee went in one morning and found the culprit - a very large black snake (about 9 ft. it turned out) that now just had 2 large bumps in it (of now ex-guinea hens) hindering its ability to escape.  

As I've mentioned, Dee loves all animals and despite the fact that this serial killer had already murdered a handful or so of her new guinea hens, she put the snake in a sack (it was too full to put up much of a fight - but still - it was pretty huge) and let it go somewhere else on the farm. Knowing absolutely nothing about nature but being a natural cynic, I wondered if it mightn't just slither right back up the hill. Do snakes have a sense of direction? A memory? Did it emerge from its food coma thinking, "Hey, I think there's a great new restaurant with tender guinea fowl somewhere in this neighbourhood"?

Last Saturday, with trips and other conflicts, Dee & I suddenly realized that we were the only two to take the hounds out for exercise. Normally, D & I ride in one golf cart with a couple (to several) others helping us on horseback (as the riders are able to go more quickly after any hound/hounds that take a mind to run off from the rest of the group). And so, armed with naught but 2 golf carts, 2 whips and a horn, the two of us decided we would take the hounds for their walkout and just to up the difficulty factor and only for their second outing, we added PUPPIES!

I suppose if anyone had been driving down the county road that day and didn't know what was going on it probably looked like a couple of ladies of a certain age being "little rascals on our Little Rascals" and having a crazed motorized wheelchair rodeo of some sort.  Anyway, we were well pleased with ourselves when we returned with the same amount of hounds with which we left.  Extra points were awarded (by us to us - 'cause why not?) for the facility in which we got them in and out of the trailer and into the kennel as well. Huzzah!

I then went down to my house to start to make lasagna for dinner that night and realized that I had meant to grab a Pyrex pan from Dee's house so back up I went in the golf cart now accompanied by my Mexican Canine-American housemate, Carmella, the chihuahua.  On the way back down I was doing pretty well driving with one hand, balancing the pan and the tiny dog while opening the throttle to give the cart a bit more gas and then saw something black laying across the drive and thought, "Well, look at that big old black stic..SNAKE!!" 

I am happy to report that no chihuahuas, snakes or Pyrex dishes were harmed in the stunt driving that was required at just that moment.  I totally think it was the serial killer snake though. Ever notice the reptilian onomatopoeia of the word recidivist? MmmHmm...

On a less homicidal note, Dee & I think that "Two Whips and a Horn" would be a great name for a B&B and/or Pub catering to the Hunt crowd.

Alas, it might also be a good name for an S&M Club so the marketing would really be everything...

Jesus is coming for you - and he has back-up dancers!

I was a hostage of the Catholic Church for my first 17 years.  Our father was a Protestant - although not Protestant enough to ever be able to answer the question of which sub-denomination - just standard issue Protestant, I guess.  Our mother was Catholic so our parents' marriage was considered "mixed" and they had to sign over any and all children to the Catholic Church.  It was the law.

In 8th grade, I declared myself to be an Atheist.  Mother, naturally, had a fit and so, in my Libra way - I compromised (hedging my bets anyway - just in case) and met her halfway with Agnostic.  At the end of that year, which concluded our middle school years, there was a graduation ceremony. Founded in 1881, the Convent is New York's oldest private school for girls (mummy & her sister had attended Sacred Heart as well), we were big on ceremony and tradition. 

The graduation was held in the courtyard. Originally, this landmark building, the Otto Kahn mansion, had been the largest single family dwelling in New York city.  The acoustics are quite good - The Philharmonic, Enrico Caruso and George Gershwin had performed there when Mr. Kahn and his family lived in the building and Lady Gaga (an alum) filmed A Very GaGa Thanksgiving in that courtyard and other spaces in the buildings.

Medals for excellence were awarded in many different areas ('cause you can't have tradition and ceremony without medals of honour).  Suddenly, the Head of Middle School announced, "And the award for Religion goes to Pam Adams".  Well, I was certainly shocked as hell and Mother started laughing - which of course could be heard by all 40 or so of the other, non-hysterical parents.  Damn those acoustics.

I have no problem with religion, per se.  I am, in truth, honestly happy for those who are genuinely comforted by their faith. I myself use Valium. I feel rather confident in thinking that there is no organized, recognized religion (none of this Charlie Manson, Devil worship, Taliban, fringe group, whatever bullshit) whose deity commands them to go out and kill, maim, rape and pillage in his/her name. In fact, that "not killing" one is pretty much #1 on the hit parade we call the 10 Commandments. And yet, religion has been the cause of an ass-load (technical military term) of wars.

Of course another commandment is the taking of His name in vain, etc.  Jesus wept, man - Catholics are the worst at this one.

I also don't think that it should be fear of eternal damnation that compels people to act with respect, empathy and kindness towards each other.

Though clearly no religious scholar - there are a few things that I have learned either first hand and/or remember from school, church, Jesus Christ Superstar and Godspell that really are just good common sense and manners. The world wouldn't be in quite the clusterfuck it is currently if we all practiced what we preached.

First, and I really cannot stress this any more often than I already do - the Religious Right is neither.  It is truly appalling and the hypocrisy is wrong - shockingly wrong. Sure, they talk the talk - but walk the walk? Well, according to what I recall of the teachings of the Bible - really not so much. Spewing hatred and then hiding behind a religion goes against the tenets of most religions as well as the basic laws of civility.

If you believe the brochure - we are all created equal, in His image, God doesn't make mistakes (but really, ego much on that one?) and so on.  Apparently the Religious Right and their ilk did not get this memo because unless we look like them and think like them, we are not their equal and never will be.

Treat people the same way you would like to be treated.   Well, Jesus H. Christ, again if we are any different than they - we are the ones who are wrong (but clearly have a much tighter grip on reality) and also damned to hell (which given what counts as a "good Christian" these days is sounding better all the time).  Although it wouldn't hurt anyone to hold a door open for someone, let someone into the line of traffic, simply say, "please" and "thank you".

Then there's The Westboro Baptist Church who picket the funerals of anyone either known or presumed to be gay or the funerals of veterans who have fought so that we all might have the right to freedom of speech.  No matter how hateful. Their choice of words (as well as their inability to spell, punctuate, or just form an intelligent thought) speaks volumes.  Very Christian indeed.

Judge not lest ye be judged - let he who is without sin cast the first stone - the whole glass house deal.  Okay, I guess that I am technically breaking this one myself even as I type - but they started it.

In this last week, the Supreme Court came down with some historic decisions - the invalidation of parts of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, striking down the Defense of Marriage Act of 1996 and lifting Prop 8 in California. Judge Antonin Scalia proved himself to be both racist (declaring the Voting Rights Act a perpetuation of racial entitlement) and homophobic (voting for DOMA to be upheld).

I cannot say how very much I hope that one of these days one of those "Rapture" thingies actually does happen. I know that I'm not going anywhere and neither are my friends but it's a good way to round up some of the loonies.

But you, Justice Scalia? You and all of the others who are more concerned with limiting peoples' civil rights and furthering inequality than upholding the founding principle of the United States AND Christianity - that all men are created equal. And by "men" we mean all of mankind (yes, including women) and by "all" we don't just mean white, heterosexual and Christian.  Jesus tap-dancing Christ - I don't know what the fu...Wait, what's that?  Oh look! It's Jesus, Bojangles, Sammy Davis, Jr., Gregory Hines, Alvin Ailey, Michael Bennett & Jerome Robbins (in the front row anyway).  Oh, honey - be afraid, be very afraid - Jesus is coming for you and he has back-up dancers!  

And-a 5, 6, 7, 8...

Who Let The Cows Out - Moo, Moo, Moo, Moo-Moo?

Just kidding - I'm pretty sure they are supposed to be there. I don't really have much interaction with the Bovine Brethren but from what I have been able to glean, they really aren't given to "wilding". In fact, I have become so accustomed to being the only house up on a hill that if I happen to see shadows moving, I wonder just what the hell is going on? It's always cows - who are rather more ninja-like than one might imagine.


The cows are moved around the farm from field to field (and they are scattered all about as it is - I don't know how they keep track) because...well, I'm sure there is a good reason - the grass is always greener in the other pasture? One can never really take the New York out of the New Yorker.


Generally cows only moo-ve into my perview when we are exercising the hounds. The hounds are just curious and want to sniff around and say "hi" and the cows, for the most part, would prefer that they not do that. One time, about 8 or so cows came running down to one of the gates we were about to open and cross as if to say "Yeah, no - we don't want to share any of this field today". When it became apparent to the cows that the hounds, horses and people were indeed going to be coming into their pasture - they literally looked at each other and in their very best Monty Python re-enactment, did the "Run Away! Run Away!" battle scene from Holy Grail.


Recently, Dee had to travel on business and so I was to lead the next three walkouts. I am getting a bit more confident and am often now able to make a sound come out of the horn that doesn't sound like a desperate cry for help from a living thing.


The first walkout, I had forgotten to ask where the horn was and couldn't find it in any of the usual places (it was, in fact, hung where it should be, I had just never noticed it there before) and had also forgotten to ask about "treats" so this session was done hornless & treatless (Dee doesn't always give them treats while we're out - but I figured since I was the substitute teacher that some canine graft & corruption in the form of small bone-shaped biscuits would've been helpful). 

We came to the last field and pond and since there were quite a few cows already at the pond, decided it might be best to just lead the hounds away from that pond. I then looked down the hill to see an ass-load (agricultural unit of measurement) of cows being led into the field. Jesus tap-dancing Christ! A quick consult with the riders and we decided that I would call the hounds behind me but rather than give the command to "go", I would just move slowly down the hill diagonally away from the incoming crowd with most of the riders keeping between the cows and hounds. It worked! The hounds followed my cart and moving as a unit everyone got to the bottom of the hill without any confusion or tears. 

I was well pleased with that maneuver (probably not as impressive to the veterans but I enjoyed it).


The second walkout was pretty stress free (but crazy hot) until the end. We got all of the hounds into the trailer to take them back up to the kennel except for Ice-T (I am not changing any of the animals' names until or unless I am advised they have lawyers on retainer). Normally behaved like a gentleman, Ice-T decided to channel his inner rapper and run back into the field. Dee truly loves every one of her creatures, great & small, from the horses down to the bees so I had NO intention of telling her we had lost one of her hounds, I yelled to the poor, exhausted, blazing hot riders "No one leaves until we get T back here!"

Oh dear, it's just occurred to me that technically I may have been holding a half dozen or so people hostage at that point. 

Well, what does one do when faced with a short, round woman of a certain age who is brandishing a whip and is covered in sweat, dust and pond scum, and currently has Bette Davis eyes - and not the good kind of which Kim Carnes sang either. I'm thinking more "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane" eyes or "Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte" peepers. Well, we finally got T back but by that point we could only get him into the cab of the truck. Have you ever tried to drive a truck with a trailer full of hounds behind you and a foxhound sitting on your lap?  Well, I have.


By the third walkout, the temperature had been steadily climbing every day and that alone could've caused the spontaneous combustion of any living thing but just as I pulled on the front door, not only was I hit by the heat but also by a smell that I could only think was one large dead thing (something in the Woolly Mammoth size range) OR a large amount of smaller dead things. Turns out it's fertilizer time. New York, in the height of summer, with the sanitation people on strike, isn't even in the same class of stink. 

Fortunately, with the exception of a continual wish for a gas mask, that walkout went well. Dee was returning that afternoon leaving me no time in which to find alternate living arrangements had it not.

Tomorrow we ride (I cart) at dawn (well, not dawn so much as 90 minutes earlier than usual) 'cause that heat isn't going anywhere anytime soon.  

Onward & sideways!

I'm Sorry, I Was Not Aware There Would Be Backing Up...

I had a very sheltered upbringing - on the Upper East Side of New York. I was very fortunate to have been afforded a most excellent education at The Convent of the Sacred Heart on 91st Street & Fifth Avenue. It was an unusual time to be growing up anyway - the times they were indeed a-changing.

The academic program was, and still is, of the highest order and though I don't know if such a thing even exists anymore, I vaguely remember a very tepid sort of Home Economics class (or club, maybe?) I just know that I didn't have to take it. The reason this course was not emphasized was that it was just presumed that a young lady of the Sacred Heart would have staff.

Another elective that was not offered (although I don't believe it was offered at either Spence or Nightingale - two other private girls schools in the immediate area) was driving. As New Yorkers, we mostly walked and/or were driven. Getting one's driving license just wasn't the milestone for us that it was for, you know, everyone else in the world. Or America at least. 

The first driving license I had was in the mid-1980's when I first lived on Anguilla (the northern most of the Leeward Islands). There we drove in "American" cars (steering wheel on the left) BUT as Anguilla is a British dependent territory (British West Indies) we drove on the left side of the road.


This is helpful nowhere.

The first American driving license was issued to me in the early 1990's in Montana when I was splitting my year between Missoula and Anguilla. I then spent the next decade driving on the right hand side of the road for half of the year and the left hand side for the other half.

Because of the impediments that came with driving on Anguilla - goats leaping into the middle of the road from out of nowhere, pot-holes that could swallow a small car and confused tourists trying to negotiate the roundabouts AND remember that they need to stay on the left hand side of the road, I have always been a very vigilant driver but because so many others are not, I am also a very anxious driver.

To be honest, it is not always the other driver, most of my life is anxiety driven.

I don't like driving on highways, don't like driving fast, not a fan of the windy road, get claustrophobic if I am surrounded by a lot of traffic, am now quite night-blind and still, to this day, when I am in a new place, I have to remember to drive on the right-hand side of the road until I get used to it.

Arkansas, it turns out, appears to be mostly winding two lane highways. I am now quite confident in making my way from home to our small town and its environs but it will still be a while before I can do the drive to Fayetteville. A) There is construction going on and those flashing lights and stripedy barrels only serve to confuse me (on top of the anxiety), 2) There is a LOT of traffic and C, D, E & F) I don't know where anything is.

Anyway, my friend Alex (also not his real name and coincidentally my friend Dee's older son (still not her name either)) is having some transportation issues just now and needs a lift to and from work. For the most part Dee takes him in the morning and I collect him in the afternoon. A couple of weeks ago I got a call asking if I might go for Alex in the truck as he had something large to bring home.

Holy crap - the White Rhino! The first time I'd seen Dee in over 30 years - she pulled up to the airport in this giant white truck, opened her door, slid out and then disappeared from sight for a few seconds before she came around the front of the truck. It's taken a while and I am now reasonably proficient at getting in and out of the passenger side with a modicum of dignity and a minimum of swearing but it is one big-ass truck.

I went up to Dee's house to swap my golf cart for the White Rhino and it had already been considerately parked in a manner that allowed me to just get in and drive. No having to reverse out and negotiate the parking area - just climb in and off I go. Well, the whole thing scared the crap out of me but it was time to suck it up and in the words of the philosopher, Nike, "Just do it!"

I would just briefly like to mention, as an aside, that if it is normal for your vehicle to have lights on that usually signify that something might be wrong, a heads-up could probably be helpful in the elimination of visions of the vehicle exploding before the completion of the task. There are almost no vehicles from this century on the compound so almost everything has its own eccentricities - as do many of the best people...

I pulled into the drive of Alex's job and he directed me to follow him around this building so he could load-in his stuff. Once the task was completed he said, "OK, just turn the truck around and I'll meet you over there" gesturing vaguely in the direction in which we had come.


Umm - what's that now? Just turn the truck around? Like, go backwards and then forward again? Well, it had never crossed my mind that I would have to turn this mother around - but then again, I reckoned that anything short of an actual building that might be behind me would not win in a confrontation with The White Rhino and so I wrestled that gear shift to R and then back over to D and we were outta there. 

Once I knew we were on our way back to the farm and that we would be in Drive for the rest of the trip I was able to enjoy the powerful feeling of driving a big old truck. I totally get it. Sitting eleventy feet above the ground and thinking: 

"I am The White Rhino - bow to me!"

My Kingdom for an Anchovy!

When I moved here, I was aware that the farm is in a pretty rural area.  This is one of the many things that I love.  My view is stunning in every direction and generally peace and quiet abide.  On a clear night, in the absence of ambient light, you can see almost every star ever discovered and practically read by the light of the full moon. When the moon is new however, finding your car can be a challenge as you walk, Harpo Marx-like, knees bent, taking tiny steps with hands gesturing frantically in front of you wishing you had bat sonar. 

The area in which I live is considered Northwestern Arkansas, abbreviated as NWA.  I cannot say how long it will be before images of Dr. Dre & Ice Cube stop popping into my mind every time I hear "NWA".

We are about 5 miles from town (pop. 2346) and about 30 miles from Town (where the University is located).  We have a lovely little downtown.  There is a traffic thingy that looks meant to be in the spirit of a roundabout but is really a rather confusing polygon of some sort.  There was some stunt driving involved during my first attempt at circumnavigating this 5th circle of Hell and I believe that poor Dee may have seen a lot of her life flashing before her eyes but admirably kept her calm and we tried it again.

We have a McDonald's, a Sonic & a Pizza Hut. About 100 feet from the Pizza Hut there is another little pizza place that is called, That Little Pizza Place.  Needless to say, this can lead to conversations of the "Who's on first?" variety.  

We have a Walmart (this is Arkansas, it's the law) and although I had really been a Target girl in the past, I am becoming quite fond of our Walmart.  Hey, on Mothers' Day morning I was able to get a wifi router and get connected again to the rest of America.  I just wish Pepperidge Farm double chocolate Milano cookies would stop falling into my basket.

Then we have our grocery store.  It is a chain store and I'd been to the one in "Town" before as it's on the way to/from the airport and that one is really nice. Ours is well, a bit less so. The people who work there are lovely, it's not that, it is the fact that either Mr. Magoo or Jackson Pollock is responsible for the layout of the store. There seems to be a little bit of everything on every aisle so the shopping experience is a cross between Concentration:

"Wait, I saw some of these things on another aisle.  Um three aisles over?" 

"No, I'm sorry, it was two aisles over.  And the board goes back." 

& Jeopardy: "I'll take Things Only I Know on Which Aisle They Reside for $400, Alex". 

If you pay close attention though there are little gems to be found.  There is a significant Mexican population here so there are bottles of Coke & Fanta from Mexico made with REAL sugar not the HFCS crap.  It means nothing to me, I've been on diet soda since 1963 but for someone who does enjoy "the real thing" - it is here.

Three different types of Panko bread crumbs - on three separate aisles. Who knew?

We're ass-deep (technical retail terminology) in Vidalia onions just now which seem to have elbowed the plain old regular yellow onions into obscurity.  I'm sure they'll be back though.

Early on, I decided to make a Caesar salad.  It's probably my favourite salad and as long as I have the required ingredients - I make a pretty good one.  Romaine lettuce - check, garlic, lemons, cracked black pepper, check, check, check.  Olive oil, Fresh eggs, Parmesan cheese & Worcestershire - got 'em.  Anchovies?  Anchovies?  Well, on the aisle that one might normally find anchovies, I found the usual suspects: tuna, clams (smoked & not), oysters (also smoked & not), sardines - a few different varieties.  Anchovy paste - sure, but nary a tin of anchovy fillets to be found.

I returned a couple of days later on a search and destroy mission.  I would be the Jacques Cousteau of supermarkets.  I would find those damn anchovies.

And so, with my shopping cart, temporarily christened "Calypso" and "The Best of Little Feat" playing on my iPod I began systematically going up and down every single aisle until finally, good news!  I spy a group of anchovy tins (a school of anchovy tins?) on the shelf.  And look, only $1 each?! Hey wait, what's the catch? Oh, well there ya go - they expired last December!

And this, ladies & gentlemen, is why I can't have nice things. What I will do is purchase plenty, plenty tins of anchovies the next time I find them. 

As God is my witness, I will never go without anchovies again!

Where Could I Be? Believe It Or Not, It's Me!

Okay, you know that thing where when you smack something so hard that as soon as you look at the affected area, a bruise has already formed?  Well, this morning, the golf cart grabbed my beautiful hunting whip, literally whipping it out of the cart with the knob end whacking me on the shin.  Just exactly above my work boots.  Huzzah.  Fortunately my whip, made by a local artist/equestrian, is fine.  Given the location of the bruise, I am able to wear an ice pack but still continue to wander about - although I feel rather like Lindsay Lohan under house arrest.

Oh, well now I've jumped way too far ahead...

I went to a small, private women's liberal arts college on the east coast that folded in 1977 leaving us with no alumnae association.  We all scattered to the wind as happens during several decades. Once I had the internet, I tried looking for a couple of my friends - the ones whose married names I knew. Whose weddings I'd been to.  This was still during dial-up days when you would put your words into the search box and then you'd go, say, make a meal and then come back to see if anything came up.  The first one I found was my friend, PK. Funny, smart, loving, lovely, beautiful PK.  Her obituary from just 3 years or so prior - breast cancer.  I wept for 2 weeks and then stopped looking anymore for a while.  

A few years ago, I heard via my old colleagues on Anguilla that someone was looking for me and I gave them permission to give out my personal info.  

In the meantime, I  tried putting some names into the facebook search box again and finally a couple of them came up!  One was for the friend who was looking for me and another confirmed that the info I had recently come across for another bff had been correct - she did live in Arkansas. Dee (not her real name - forgot to ask her if I can use her name in my blog) asked me if I travelled and would I come & visit?  Well, I hadn't gotten on a plane in almost a decade because A) I hate it and 2) for much of that time, I was too large to fit into those seats but I said "Sure" and along with another friend (and roommate of almost 5 years from NYC days) we agreed to meet at Dee's farm to celebrate the Royal Wedding of Wills & Kate  - AND as it turned out the capture of Osama Bin Laden as well. We'd also spent the NY black-out of 1977 together.

None of us had seen each other in over 30 years but within 30 minutes it felt as though it had only been 30 days - not a whole lifetime!  

Over the next few visits, Dee & I had discussed me moving down here in a sort of hypothetical scenario but since my housemates in Montana were putting their house on the market and I was going to have to pack up all of my stuff anyway, it seemed to be a sign that it might just be time for a new adventure.  Dee's friend and tenant had an extra bedroom in his house and he was willing to share with me so I thought, "why not?".  After all, isn't it what almost every little girl and her bff decide around 9 or 10 years old, "Hey, if neither of us is married when we are old (generally deemed at that point to be 35) then we should live in the same town and grow old together".  Sort of Golden Girls in The Ozarks. My friend Nici, has been a great inspiration in having faith in leaps of faith.  So here I am.

Foxhunting is a big deal here and Dee is Master of the Foxhounds.  Holy crap, this is no job for sissies.  There is a ton of work involved in running the farm and over the years, she has learned a great deal about veterinary medicine as well and I am just generally in total awe of her.  If they were to make a movie of Dee's life - Barbara Stanwyck would've been the best choice to play her - except for the fact that she is way, way older than Dee and also, quite dead.

I am trying my best to learn things so that I can maybe be useful and give her a hand whenever she needs it.

In the off-season, the hounds are "walked out" (or exercised) twice a week (generally the same days as the hunts in season).  Today I was asked to lead the walkout (just the 3rd time I've done it).  We (the golf cart - usually with with Dee & me in it and generally anywhere from 2-4 people on horseback) travel about part of the farm from pond to pond and also keep the hounds used to hearing and responding to the commands that Dee gives them during the hunt. The hounds are told to "Come behind!" (the golf cart now but Dee on her horse during the hunt) and then with the command "Ok Boys!" they are off like a shot.  It's very cool.

The cutting of wheat is just beginning so in most of the fields the grass/wheat is getting really tall. The hounds would go running off and then come running back looking at me like, "Where are we going? We can't see! The grass is TOO HIGH!" When it was time to get them behind the cart - I had to stand on the golf cart so they could see me and I could crack my whip to get their attention.

About three-quarters through the course, the end of my hunting whip got caught in the golf cart wheel and was snapped off the seat next to me and the rounded knob-like handle whacked me in the shin for good measure.  Hurt like a mofo but am happy I didn't harm the whip.  Fortunately, it is made of ash, a hard wood.  Unfortunately for my shin, my whip is made of ash, a hard wood.

As always, when something doesn't necessarily go my way, I try my best to find something optimistic in the situation (I don't know why - I have pharmaceuticals).  Anyway, at least my legs are no longer winter white which would make this bruise (about 6 inches long at the moment, still early days) MUCH more apparent and dramatic.  Also, I believe that I have clothing in black, blue, purple, green and yellow so that I might colour coordinate my outfits over the next few weeks as this bruise waxes and wanes.

I do so love a good colour theme...