The Internet has proven to be such a valuable resource for amazing topics. For example, our 18-year-old looked up from his computer the other day.
“According to research,” he said, “there is a right way to hang toilet paper.”
“Did somebody pay money for this research?” I asked.
“They studied the angle of the sheet and how efficiently you can unroll the paper.”
“Really. They studied this?” I guess there’sa little of the cynic hiding in me somewhere.
“Oh, yeah. I read a whole article on it. I could google it if you want to read it.”
“No, thanks.” He took time to discover this information?
“So they found out thatthe best way is to let the paper fall over the top of the roll.”
“Uh-huh.” Unlike some households, this has never been a point of dissension for us. I thought none of us cared. So I had to ask. “Is that the way you hang toilet paper?”
He’d already turned back to his computer but his head popped up.
“I never hang toilet paper,” he said. “I put it on the counter top.”
My late husband and I went four-wheeling into a remote area in the Snowy Range of Wyoming and came across this abandoned cabin. Matt called it his peaceful place and I wondered what stories it held. Who had built it? What dreams were forged in this valley?
The day I met my namesake out in the pigpen was the day I decided I wasn’t using people names for our livestock anymore.
Our neighbor’s daughter liked to name their pigs after friends. Seeing a hog rooting in the mud and learning that her name was Kathy – well, that was the turning point.
No more Abraham or Elinore or Danielle.
But the animals needed names. If you can’t use the neighbors’ names and you can’t use the baby book names, what can you use for ideas?
A dictionary, of course.
Which explains why we’ve had livestock carrying such names as Tripod, Rugby and Torch. We’ve had Breeze, Warrior and Colossal.
Such names as Scimitar and Saber have been attached to some of our animals over the years. We’ve used Cola and Domino and Tinsel.
Not long ago, a friend send a rabbit our way. “She’s not named,” said our friend. “Although I think I should have called her Frying Pan, just to fit in with your barn.”
I don’t know why she laughed. That name would have worked for us.
The cowboys, with their sleek horses, found lassoes and saddles fall flat when dealing with sheep.
We were at the county fair where the sheep had done their duty for the mutton busting contest, which featured the preschoolers riding sheep with helmets and determination.
The rides were timed and the kids stuck like a burr until the buzzer sounded.
Soon all the sheep were milling in the arena. It was time to get them back to the corral.
The cowboys with their uniforms of Stetson hats and starched shirts headed their horses toward the flock.
The horses pressed against the edges of the flock but sheep aren’t easily herded.
They scattered, leaving the cowboys with nothing to herd.
After several minutes of scattering, the cowboys reined their horses and mulled.
What to do with these sheep?
The sheep gathered to the far end of the arena, ready for round 2. They could scatter all day. Those horses were no match for mutton bustin’ sheep.
But then George came to the rescue.
George knew sheep. He pulled a white 5-gallon bucket from the bed of his pickup and headed for the arena.
He stood at the gate and raised the bucket, pounding his hand against it.
At the thumping, the sheep lifted their heads, their ears rotating.
Then they honed in on the sound. And together they surged forward to George and his bucket.
With George thumping the bucket, the sheep followed him into the corral and got ready for round 2 of mutton busting’.
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