Nutty Nut-Nut

Yesterday I sat with my daughter in the old glider-rocker and pretended that she was a baby. I had one arm under her knees and the other arm under her head. She sat and giggled the whole time and then I tickled her after telling her she "had no teeth", or "she can barely walk", or "she just has a little bit of hair". She started to take her fingers and move my lips with them by wiggling my chin around. She was making me say stuff. So I did it to her. I made her say, "I am a big ol' nutty nut-nut!" (I like to call her that. It is a little phrase I learned from my time in South Carolina)

She took my chin and made me say, in turn, "I eat tons of chocolate and I am a big, fat liar!"

What the heck was that?

She laughed and laughed and then we were done.


Staunch1 said...

Dances with Rodents

I’m not like them, not exactly. Oh, I have blood on my hands too but it’s not the same. It was an accident with me. I had let the grass grow for too long in the small dog yard. I had procrastinated for a couple of weeks now. I didn’t understand this to be a party invitation for mice or whatever that was. When the mower finally made stripes through the too long grass, I saw a couple of the run for their lives and I just let them get away. It felt a little creepy to be so close to them, but I let them go this time…. well I tried to let them go…

Before the lawn grooming ended, one of them had in fact been lost. When I pulled the mower back one time, I could see the bottom half of one of them left on the ground. I can only assume the top of him/her was in the collection bag with rest of the grass clippings, but I’ll never know for sure. When I dumped it out I didn’t want to look.

As I process this senseless death, I imagine that this must have been a less experienced animal. The others seemed to know what to do when you heard the mower or felt the vibrations, but this one must have just sat there and then at the exact wrong time thought he’d take a quick look around to see what all the fuss was about. It was painless and it was unintentional.

So when I say I’m one of them, I don’t want to give an impression that they/we are a completely homogeneous group. Yes, we all kill, but the premeditation is not the same for all. On the east coast of the US, I have heard stories of the Shovel Bludgeoners (SBs). Here a slightly larger animal is whacked at first with the broad side of a shovel, (flat or pointed nose, it doest really matter) and then once the target is dazed, the nose of the shovel is turned and the sharp end does its damage. I can only assume that this was the inspiration for the carnival game “Whack a Mole” and therefore this practice might be widespread. Ghastly!

Rodent killing happens up in the Northwest as well. An account has been offered of a vole killing family near Moscow, ID. Apparently the Family VonVoleKillers each have their own shovel and they take turns striking one or more of the furry beasts. As the tale is told, you can almost hear the glee-filled giggles of both parents and children as the winter snow turns red with vole blood.

I come from an animal killing family so maybe there is a genetic aspect of this practice. My own brother has been known to kill a harmless bull snake using a late model Suburban. What show of excessive force! But this is still a very different thing. Using a piece of heavy equipment either intentionally or by accident falls in another category.

The SBs are involved in hand-to-hand combat. They are close enough to look their victim in the eyes as it dies. They need to wash both their hands and their clothing when it’s all over. I am confronted with these thoughts today. Earlier this morning I found myself with my weed whacker (another piece of equipment) taking down the larger weeds along the fence line and there is rodent evidence everywhere around me. Fresh gopher mounds remind me that they are close by. I have seen them in this area before.

What am I supposed to do now? I don’t want to go through this again but if I don’t take the weeds out now it will only get worse. I really have no choice. I try and push away the thoughts of the spinning orange line and the teenage curious gopher just minding his own business. I moments like this I question my fitness for country living.

Huckleberry Friend

R said...

What can I say? I am speechless....

And you know too much about me.