Not only does Louisiana have giant, toothed alligators to watch out for, but they also have nasty, nasty, hurtful biting flies. These Basterds are black as coal, with inch-long vicious teeth in their tiny mouths. They love spending their day using my long nose as a runway. After skidding to a stop, they bite my snout till I bleed. Instead of flies, I call them the Stop and Chomp Devils of Southern Louisiana.
I try to lick the blood off before Moms see it cuz My Mama gets hopping mad when something hurts me. Does she use a gun, knife, or another bold killing tool to keep me safe? Nope. Her weapon of choice is?
Her method of defense doesn’t hurt, but it scares the bejesus outa me. While cute in size and color, this swatter makes me cower when being flung around by a pissed-off Mom with crazy in her eyes. When Mom starts whipping that swatter around, I jump to the other side of the camper. It kinda goes like this… Mom slaps a surface hard (her aims not the best, so it’s 50-50; there are bug guts left behind), I jump. Mom whirls around and goes after another one, slap, and I jump to a different corner of The Ivy. On and on, this goes until Mom finishes her killing spree. Yup, bug parts smeared everywhere. People watching from the outside wonder with curiosity at what possible activity causes “that cute little camper to shake, rattle and shiver” after hearing loud smacks.
Actually, Mom would prefer and has tried putting a bug repellent on my lustrous coat in the past. I HATE that stuff! As soon as I can escape her clutches, I roll in the deep sand with vigor and heartiness. Lots of heartiness! The result is my face and eyes get full of sand. To get Mom back for the injustice, I deposit all the sand on me onto the interior of The Ivy. (He, he, I can be such a devel at times.) Mom has to spend an hour vacuuming.
The easiest way to avoid all this hullabaloo is to spend my days under Mom’s auto. The challenge isn’t so much getting under the low-slung hunk of pretty blue metal. The hard part is figuring out how to delicately scrape my privates over the sharp rocks without permeant damage.
You see, I have to squat on all fours; when my tummy is scraping the rocks, I know I’m low enough; slowly, ever so slowly, I crab walk under the auto. Yes, I’m special, so I can crab walk if needed.
Once I’m under, I tip over onto my side. “Ha, Ha, flies; try and get me now!”
Under the auto, I’m outa the beams of the Louisiana soul-sucking hot sun, and the flies can’t Stop and Chomp.
Here I’m wrapped around the tire.
This is how I spent most of May.
Mom doesn’t keep me tethered to anything when I’m under the auto. It takes me soo long to crawl out from under that a turtle could catch me.
The previous camp host left firewood in a nicely stacked pile on our site. Little did they know I would get many, many hours of enjoyment tearing that sucker apart.
My extra special sensory perception knew small crawling deviant creatures were hiding amongst the wood. I would spend hours tearing that pile apart, looking for the buggers.
Every other day Mom would restack the wood for the game to continue. She thought it was a mouse house and wondered why the silly mouse didn’t just find another pile of wood to nest in. Then Mom saw me looking up the tree.
Yes, I suppose a mouse could scramble up, but My Mama had her doubts.
Upon close investigation, Mom’s eye-spy eyes deciphered this. Her first thought was, “Wow, that would make a good puzzle.”
Her second thought was, “It’s not a mouse. It’s a lizard keeping Otis entertained all those hours.” Mom and I were impressed and surprised by the little guy’s perseverance.
I think he was having as much fun as I was playing hide-and-seek, and he will miss me terribly when I move on.
This is a picture of me playing “Cow.” I’m pretending to be in a cow stanchion. Humm, do I want someone to try to milk me, or would that be too weird?
We will be back in Minnesota soon with easy and consistent access to the internet. Mom promises the blogs will once again become consistent.