On Tractors and Blowing up Groundhogs
So, my life is a little busy. Studio business, 10-12 hours a day. Plus work at Enterprise Saint John. And (naturally) stress builds (just a little bit) sometimes. And I get (a little bit) grumpy.
Luckily I have a nutjob family to help me de-stress.
Case-in-point no. 1: My old man has a tractor. And not just any tractor. This thing is ANCIENT. So ancient there is a crank in the front to start it up. Like a Model T. So old it belonged to my old man's GRANDPARENTS. It has been kicking around our garage for fifteen-odd years and hasn't been working since I was five. A spindly, putt-putting, three-mile-an-hour piece of red farm equipment. That is now located smack-dab in the middle of the city. And one night a few weeks ago, on our front lawn. The expression on the faces of our neighbours was a mixture of confused befuddlement and/or bemusement at my Dad's (latest) antics.
I only stalled it once. Then he chased me off. I think I was a better driver when I was five.
Case-in-point no. 2: My Dad told me today that he was discovered a groundhog living in the woodpile. Awww, I exclaimed - the idea of a lone, stranded groundhog conjuring up images of botched attempts of pet adoptions a-la-Charlotte's-Web from my youth. So, I ask my old man, what are you going to do with it? Can it just live there? - a question which my Dad considers for all of two seconds before deciding:
'I'm going to shoot it.'
Nice. While the idea of blowing up a groundhog is mildly entertaining, I doubt the neighbours will respond favourably to my old man hovering over the woodpile with a two-barrel shotgun.
Of course, our lack of gun being a major impediment to the old man's plan, I doubt that we'll be blowing up any rodents over the coming days. Maybe he'll happen to run over it with the tractor.