Oh, the joys of being a homeowner. I’m not even in the woods, like my parents are. I can see the highway from my front yard. I just happen to have some woods in my side yard. But I have critters and creepies like you would not believe.
I’m not an animal lover. I think dogs are okay, as long as they don’t rule your life. Don’t even get me started on people who bring their dogs everywhere. I saw a woman on the train with a pug on her lap, explaining to some other woman that he smells really bad. Thanks for bringing him on the train! As a general rule, I feel like the only living things in or near my house should be me, J, and any other living creature we bring inside. Nothing else.
But the bugs come in every day. Ants, moths, random crawly and flying things. If that’s not bad enough, we have ginormous spiders buiding webs outside of out house. I know there are much bigger spiders in this country, but this one seemed pretty big, and very gross, to me:
Bugs are bad enough, but at least they don’t have teeth and claws. Like the giant raccoon who eats our trash. He’s a big raccoon, and has no fear or shame. He crawled into the trash, and J scared him off with a mop stick, but he just runs to the yard and watches us until we go inside. We put a metal trashcan (the one we bought for the keg) on top of our regular trash, went to bed and heard a crash. Rocky had jumped off the deck into the metal can, and was eating the leftover pinata candy that we forgot was in there. J finally moved the trash to the shed, but I keep the back door locked in fear that Rocky will come seek out his revenge on us in the middle of the night. I told J he shouldn’t have sprayed the hose at him! (And I can’t get “Rocky Raccoon” out of my head, even though I only remember two lines, despite the fact my dad played it every time he got the acoustic guitar out).
And, if there’s anything I like less than critters and crawlies, its fire. I like fire when its not at my house. I’ve spent many hours at bonfires melting beer bottles. But light a candle in the living room and I have to touch it 3 times before I go to bed. So imagine my horror when I returned home from my aunt’s on Sunday night to find J in the yard, yelling for the hose, with the back yard on fire. He’s a bit embarrassed by the whole situation, but lets just say we won’t be using the fire pit again very soon, we need a new gas can for the lawnmower, and the only casualty was a flip flop.
Remind me why I left my apartment?