This morning we had flurries and sunshine with an abundance of wind: March has arrived.
Yesterday we took Buckshot to the woods to run and check on our motorhome. We want to keep him in shape. He recently outran a pit bull.
I reached from the side and carefully opened the door of the motorhome. Nothing came racing out. The house was quiet. For the first time in years, Asian beetles, ladybug look alikes, were nowhere to be seen. I kind of missed their football huddles in the corners of the ceiling. Sniff! Sniff! Nothing dead, even though traps were sprung and bait was missing. The drapes were still closed across the windshield. Four-footed attempts to take the house for a joy-ride were abandoned. They probably couldn't get it started. It is tricky. The rest of the windows were still covered with their heavy, fabric over slatted blinds, and the bed wasn't lumpy.
The aftermath of their activity reminded me of a NASCAR campground the day after the race. Crap everywhere! Anything paper was shredded: paper towels I forgot to store in an overhead, inaccessible cupboard; a single kleenex; the cardboard back of a small tablet, and the motor vehicle title in the glove box. In the glove box! Do they think we won't sell it, if we can't transfer the title? Oh, oh, I get it. This is their play house. Babies learned to shuck sunflower seeds left in their sleeve on the dryer. Twenty-foot races were run from the dash to the back wall of the kitchen. I'll bet they got a kick out of watching their size increase the closer they got to the full-length mirror.
We're bringing the house to town for cleanup soon. I'm hoping the shake, rattle and roll will pop all creatures out into the woods rather than our in town yard.
2013 Red Convertible Travel Series
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