Posted in Boo, Nature

Rocky’s Back!

           “Shhhhh! Do you hear something?”

            “I think it’s the dryer.”

            “No, listen.”

            Boo, the cat and I were all looking up toward the ceiling in the den.  We stood up and walked, almost in synchronized form, following the sound as it moved around overhead.

            “Whoa,” Boo said.  “Whatever is in our attic is huge!”

            After the third night of sounds, Boo determined it must be a large squirrel.  At first, he used the regular sized trap we had once caught a rat with.  He shelled some old pecans and put some inside the trap with a line of pecans leading up to the door.  We continued to hear sounds the next night, so he went up to the attic and the trap was still set, but the pecans were gone.

            Gol darn it!

            Once more we tried the same trap and got the same results.  No pecans and no squirrel.

            A few days later, Boo came back from Home Depot with the mac-daddy of all traps and declared, “This will get him!”  Him or her, whatever it was, could not out smart this trap.  It was 32” long and 13” wide, with a large metal handle and a spring trap that was sure to surprise.

            “Why don’t we just call Critter Ridders?”  I suggested.

            “No, it’s personal now.  It ate half a bag of pecans.”

            Looking in the pantry I gasped, “You gave that ‘whatever it is’ the good pecans from my friend Cynthia?  I was saving those for another pecan pie.”

            “I can’t set my trap with just any ol’ pecans, now.  This is serious.”

            And so, Boo went back into the attic, set the mac-daddy trap, and put the good pecans leading up to and inside.  “This will get him.”

            The next night was silent, so Boo went up to check and the pecans were gone, and the trap was still set.  “Damn it to hell!”

            “That bastard has got to be thirsty now after so many pecans, so Boo put a plastic container of water inside the trap and more pecans.  “There goes our pecan pie,” I sighed.

            Fast forward to 3:00 a.m. and a loud Snap! Bang! and Thud!  We both bolted from the bed and Boo said, “We got him!”  The last thing I remember was Boo saying he was going up to the attic to check.  I went back to sleep, but the cat, with an anxious look, jumped into bed with me.  I admit that later I realized I should have spotted Boo as he went up those creaky attic stairs at 3:00 a.m. but, I didn’t.  I vaguely remember him saying it was a raccoon when he got back in bed.  But the next morning Rocky Raccoon was in our trap sitting in the garage.

            “He looks so cute,” I said.

            “Well, he’s not that cute.  He chewed up the water bowl and hissed at me as I carried him down.”

            Boo fed him a few more pecans and drove him to a park about a mile away from our house.  We were so happy and both of us were proud of Boo’s courage and ingenuity.  “It’s the water that got him!”  he said, and we high-fived.

            THREE separate people told us that one mile was not far enough away and that sometimes raccoons will come back to the same house.  We laughed!

            One week later, early one morning while the cat and I were sittin’ ugly, we heard something in the attic.  Emmy cat jumped to the top of her kitty condo and sat looking straight up at the ceiling, then her wide green eyes looked at me like ‘what the heck?’

            When Boo got up, he went straight to work preparing the trap, water, and pecans, and two nights later…Snap! Bang! Thud! 

            This time I spotted Boo as he ascended the treacherous steps to the attic.  I heard the usual string of cuss words as he yelled down, “He’s back, and he broke off the handle of the trap.”

            I don’t know if you are familiar with raccoons, but they have long, slender arms, with long, sharp nails.  That’s how he was able to get the pecans without even going into the trap the first time.  

Boo began the slow descent down the rickety attic steps, while both hands held the trap.  One step at a time, slowly he tried to stay balanced while Rocky continued to move around.  He had thrown an old towel over the cage to help protect his hands from Rocky’s clawing.    

            “Be careful, Babe!”  I hollered, trying to be supportive while standing behind a large shovel, ready to defend myself if necessary.

            “Mother trucker!”

            Before I knew what happened, the trap, raccoon and all, tumbled down the last few steps and landed upright on the garage floor.  “Boo!!  You dropped him!”  I yelled.

            “What about me?  That bastard tried to claw me while I was carrying him down.  He might have rabies.  I could have fallen too.” 

Well, Boo had to go to work so Rocky spent the day and night in his cage with the rest of the pecans.  Boo even rigged a water dispenser to the top of the trap so he could get water.

            The next morning when I went out to check on Rocky, he didn’t move and didn’t open his eyes when I rattled the trash cans and made more noise.

            “He’s dead!”  I whispered to Boo, while he was still asleep.  “I think the fall killed him.”

            “%!*&!”

            When Boo came outside, Rocky perked up and opened one eye.  He was still alive!

Boo bungeed the trap to the inside of the truck bed and we took off for greener pastures, so to speak.  As we drove, Rocky put his arm out of the cage and with the air in his face, seemed to be enjoying a leisurely ride in the sunshine.  He looked at me with his beautiful brown eyes and almost smiled.  Approximately ten miles away, we found a lovely, wooded area and let Rocky out of the cage.  He paused just for a split second, as if to say farewell, but instead he pooped in his cage which fell onto the truck bed then he sprinted out into the woods.  Our raccoon days were over.

            Lest you think we are foolish, or suckers for pecan-loving raccoons, we will somehow find the point of entry.  For right now, Boo declares we do not need professional help, but I am asking for prayers that no accidents, hazards or other rodents befall us, and that Boo is able to repair the damage that no doubt is on the roof and in the attic.  But for now, I will bid adieu.

And to quote the famous Ice Cube, “Bye Felicia!”

Posted in Boo, Relationships

Vegetables, Granny Style

Scott eating

Most Sundays after Church, before the Pandemic, we would go to Luby’s, a Texas traditional cafeteria.  And almost every Sunday I would marvel at the colors and textures on Boo’s plate.

Strangely, chicken fried steak, cream gravy, fried okra, mashed potatoes, and a roll are all in the same color family…beige.  Of course, okra is green, but the outside is fried and therefore a brownish beige color, too. There is no pop of color, nothing with a stalk and no variety unless macaroni and cheese or corn is swapped for the usuals.  But, the colors are the same: beige, brown and blah.

I used to lament about his choices, calling him out for choosing nothing green.  I’ve lectured on the health benefits of vegetables and I have prepared every root, tuber, flower, bulb, seed, leaf and stem known to man.  “You need your greens!” I preach.

Granny used to cut up my vegetables so fine she could hide them in my mashed potatoes and gravy,”  he said.

“Really?”

Laughing, Boo said, “No, not really!  Granny never made me eat vegetables. She loved me.”

Some culinary experiments go over better than others.  Cauliflower rice, broccoli slaw, and butternut squash was a big thumbs down.  Creamed spinach, creamed corn or green bean casserole was a thumbs up. If I ask which vegetable he wants with dinner, it’s always the same answer, “Just open a can of green beans.”  At dinner, he will proudly count out 4-6 green beans and smile, “See? I like green vegetables.”

“Remember last time we went to Costco, and I insisted we get the twelve can box of green beans?  I’m practically veterinarian,” he said.

“Boo, it’s vegetarian, and no you’re not,”  I countered. 

“Don’t be snippy,” he said and added, “I like broccoli rice casserole. It’s chocked full of broccoli and healthy stuff.” 

 Of course he does.  BRC is chocked full of cream of mushroom soup and cheese, and not even real cheese at that… Cheese Whiz!   Boo’s list of vegetables all includes words like creamed, au gratin or cheese sauce. He tries to say fried zucchini and french fries are true vegetables.  He insists guacamole is a superfood and when he gets black olives on his meat-lovers pizza he is boastful for days.

“A man your age should eat vegetables without having to hide them in his mashed potatoes,” I say.

I felt him roll his eyes.   

“You’re trying to kill me,” he said.  “Remember the time you brought home grapefruit and tried to make me eat it at breakfast?  You know it doesn’t mix with my meds.”

“That was an accident.  I didn’t mean to. I just want you to eat more fruits and vegetables so you can live a long and healthy life.  I love you, Boo.”

“Promise me you’ll try to eat more greens?”  I asked. “You know, greens without a fried outer covering or smothered in cheese sauce?”

  “OK, but you’re asking a lot,”  and as he walked away I heard,

“I wish Granny was here.”

Granny
Posted in Boo, Family, Relationships

Boo’s 20/20

Boo’s 20/20 by: Nancy Malcolm

“Your driving scares me!”  I said.  “Did you see that car?”  And I threw my arm across his chest in a move I used when the kids were little.

“My eyes are perfect,”  Boo declared.  “It’s you I worry about.”

“Maybe you need your eyes checked.  When was the last time you had an eye exam?”

“5th grade, by the school nurse.  I aced it!”  Holding one hand over his left eye. 

“I’m sure your school nurse was a lovely person and took her job seriously, but you have not had your eyes checked since elementary school?”

“I don’t need to.  I can see perfectly.”

Needless to say, I did not trust Boo’s last eye ‘exam’ as the current state of his eyesight.  As with most of Boo’s health care, I felt the need to lecture (that’s a harsh word) on the value of healthy eyes as we age.  You know, cataracts, glaucoma, and basic vision.  An eye exam can also warn of diabetes, high cholesterol, or other problems.

“Don’t worry about me, my eyes are x-ray vision!” he said. “Like Superman.”

“Well, if you don’t believe me, ask your doctor at next week’s annual exam.  See what he says.”  I was feeling smug that his doctor would agree with me and send him right away for an eye exam but sometimes I don’t trust Boo to ask his doctor the right questions.

When it came time for Boo to go, I handed him a slip of paper with three concerns to ask his doctor, just to ease my mind.

Do I need a flu shot and a pneumonia shot?

Check the mole behind ear that looks funny

Eye exam

According to Boo, his doctor, too, was a little surprised he had never had a real eye exam.

“So what did the doctor say?”  I asked.

“He asked me if I was having any problems.” 

 “What did you say?” I prodded.

“I said no. Then he asked me if  anything was blurry far away or close up?”

“And?”

“I said no.  Then he asked me why I wanted my eyes checked, and I said my wife thinks I need to.

“What did he say then?”  I asked.

“Oh.  Ok.”

The next week, Boo got his eyes examined, dilated and checked by a trained ophthalmologist, not a school nurse, and he came out with flying colors.

“You seem disappointed that I am truly perfect in every way.”

Maybe I was, just a little.  With Boo, I do worry about his health.  I’m glad to know he is now up to date on his flu shot, eye exam, colonoscopy and dental cleanings.  I’m still working on his nutrition, though.  His stash of candy and treats rival the grocery store check-out line, and his addiction to licorice is worthy of a 12-step program.

But, one thing at a time.  I’m proud of him for all he’s done and for now I will stay quiet and stop being Nurse Nancy.  

First the eyes….next the Twizzlers.