I’m posting in self-defense, here. My trapping efforts snagged me two hides today! No kidding. I love trapping. My brother was fairly successful at it and used to take me with him on his trap line down by the creek on the Smith farm.
I seriously considered pictures but Debbie censored the idea. No sense in gloating, I guess. Plus there’s probably someone in blogland that thinks mice are people, too. We don’t need PETA on the trailer steps.
Milking stool? Ha. This is my baby booster that sat in the green kitchen chairs at the farm table. It was top of the line, being designed by Grandpa Smith Inc. He was a talented man with the usual Midwest farming talents plus some extra special skills that neighbors came for. He could shoe horses, build barns with the best of ’em, plow a line that looked like the work of a surveyor, erect fences that held for decades, plus weld and repair almost anything that needed it. He was also the neighbor tooth extractor in a pinch… (yes, people, not animals). Did I mention more left brained than right? Not a touchy-feely guy.
I not only know every inch under the belly of the RV, but I’ve even duct taped some of the steel wool I stuffed into seams, so I can tell at a glance if anything is messing with me!
I’ve taken Kevin’s advice and I’m headed for the little rod behind the pedal as I finish this. Of course I have duct tape and WD 40. If this doesn’t work… I also have Grandpa’s hammer.