Well, I celebrated my 75th birthday recently and I greeted it with a humorous senior moment that should warrant a chuckle from the age-impaired like me.
My good friend Mocephus has a birthday on the same day (as does my good wife, Nevah) and his family decided to have an 80th birthday blowout for him. A packed room full of friends and family turned out at the local church to help Mo celebrate — including Nevah and myself.
Here’s where the humor began. I took the keys out of our car and headed to the celebration. About halfway there, I decided to tighten my belt one notch. I did so and entered the party.
After an hour or so of eating, drinking, and yakking, Nevah and I decided to leave so Mo’s family members could be by themselves to take memory-making pictures.
But, when I arrived at our car to go home, I couldn’t find my car keys. First, I emptied front and back pockets in my jeans. No keys. Second, I checked the pockets of my jacket. Again, no keys. Third, I walked slowly around the car and on the sidewalk leading to the church looking for my keys on the ground. Again, no keys. Fourth, I checked the inside of the church. Again, no keys.
So, I decided to come back and search for the keys after everyone had gone home because I knew the church is left unlocked all the time. We used Nevah’s keys to get home. There I found a flashlight and checked around and under the car seat for my keys. All to no avail.
About an hour later, I returned to the church and, once again, checked the grass around the sidewalk, and, once again, went into the church and looked high and low for my keys. Nada!
Returning home again, I called Mo to see if anyone had reported finding a wayward set of keys. “Nope,” he said.
By now thoroughly perplexed, I said to myself, “Those keys didn’t just get up and fly away. They have to be somewhere.” About that time, I thought to myself, “Your jeans have a watch pocket. You haven’t looked there.”
Sure enuf, when I checked the watch pocket on my jeans, there were my keys! Somehow when tightening my belt, I dropped the keys into the watch pocket. Plus, I carry my cell phone in a leather holster that fits tightly right over the top of the watch pocket. That’s why I couldn’t feel the lost keys.
After I got through laughing at, and cussing at, myself and my senior moment, I gave Mo and call and said, “I found my keys. Guess it’s better to be a lucky dummy and to be an unlucky dummy.” Argh!
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While I’m on the subject of notable anniversaries, this week marks the beginning of my 44th years writing this column. That is also proof that I’m a dummy — but a dummy whose made a lot of friends along the way.
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I’ve mentioned before that I have archaeological chickens. By that, I mean they are constantly scratching interesting artifacts out of the Damphewmore Acres ground.
A few weeks ago, they unearthed a tiny cigarette lighter that had a tiny, rusted chain attached. My friends and I decided that it was probably a trinket from a long-ago carnival booth.
Then last week, my chickens unearthed a metal object about a half-inch long and an eighth of an inch thick that is shaped somewhat like a heart. It had undecipherable writing on the back and parallel vertical lines inscribed on the front
Again, my friends and I tried to decide what the artifact is. We decided on three possibilities: One: It is part of a military medal; two: it is part of a set of horse or mule harness, or, three (and most likely) it is a button from long-ago go pair of child’s overalls.
Guess we’ll never know for sure, but it’s fun to speculate. I’ll just keep my eyes on the ground to see what my chickens unearth next.
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The old hen that hatched six chicks on Dec. 22 wuz a good, highly-protective mother for five weeks of cold weather. But then I guess she’d had it with caring for her brood and abandoned them in the brooder house and went to her normal home in the hen house. Luckily, the chicks are big enuf to keep themselves warm and well-fed in the brooder house. Guess hens are like other mothers. Eventually, you’ve got to watch your kids become independent.
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January 31 wuz the last day of the quail season. It was rather warm that day, so I decided to take a chance and go quail hunting alone with bird dog Mandy. I usually don’t venture afield anymore without a human companion. Mandy and I walked a neighbor’s relatively flat field and brushy draw and we found one covey.
I only harvested one bird, but we got home safely. I told Nevah, at my age, you never know. That wild quail could represent my last one from my last hunt. I hope that ain’t true.
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I’ll close for the week with some words of wisdom from a bumper snicker. It read: “The people who claim our president has mental issues, also claim there are more than two genders.”
Cattlemen, get ready for calving season. Hope you have a good ‘un.
