It’s raining.
Not hard, just a gentle rain.
Before it started raining I was mowing the front yard.
I was using our self-propelled walk-behind mower: that area is way too steep for the riding mower.
Riding mowers tend to roll over out there.
Rolling a mower is not fun.
I hit a stump.
Broke the mower.
Bent the blade.
Hope I didn’t twist the shaft too. If I did, that mower becomes expensive scrap metal.
Shoved the dead mower up, up, up the steep hill (I was feeling a bit like Sisyphus) through two gates up to the shop and left it there.
It was feeling like rain, so I encouraged all the house dogs (who were trapped inside while I mowed because of the open gates) to head outside and do what needed to be done. Some were reluctant, but complied.
As soon as they were back in I took a shower (it is Wednesday and I don’t want to go to church all stinky).
When I opened the shower curtain, Blondie was sitting right there peering at me with wide eyes, “Dougie, Dougie, Dougie: sky boomers Dougie. Can I come in there with you? No, wait … that’s a wet place. Will you come out here and comfort me?”
Sure enough, it was raining and there was an occasional peal of distant thunder.
Blondie is scared of thunder.
Now I’m trying to finish getting ready for church with a 90 pound woolly wart on my foot.
