Dead Goose

Just chatter today as I share

my day of yard work.

It was ONLY  100 today,

and going to 115 by Friday so 

I knew I had to get my tuckus out there and

clean up all the pink snow..

Three bags of this stuff from one tree

 and this is the third time this Spring.

I am no longer enjoying this garden.

It has become a place I dread as

 there is always something to clean up

via LOUD blower and then Howie thinks

it is fun to jump in the stuff and then eat some, 

and he rushes back inside to upchuck

 on the one small carpet area in the living room.

I'm telling you he makes a bee line for it,

as if I practiced with him for hours 

with treats, saying 

"PUKE here, RIGHT here, THAT'S it,

Good Boy Howie..."

After 4 hours I had 1/2 the yard done and had discovered

all three umbrellas had bird poop of

varying mega degrees, the bird bath was crusty,

both fountains needed to be cleaned and

reassembled, three strings of lights were out,

and some ugly horn worm resembling

Jabba The Hutt was devouring three plants.

Because the numbnuts in my neighborhood will be

setting off hundreds of dollars of illegal 

fireworks next week I am racing to pick up all

remaining dried debris from yard, 

roof and gutter so they don't burn

down my house.

EVERY year in town they burn up something.

They also blow off digits in rather large numbers

keeping the ER hummin'.

Anyhoot, you great gardeners out there

 that I know and love, my hats off to you.

You probably garden in MS clogs with

 a pretty apron and straw hat and whistle while you work.

I, on the other hand, garden in last night's PJ bottoms 

yes, the same one with the hole in the crotch.

I've since added a hanging torn knee hole and two holes 

spaced like eyes on my thigh.

I top it with a two sizes too large tank, 

no bra and yep the mammaries are swinging.

In all fairness to neighbor's sensibilities,

I do not venture into the front yard at all,

and if the neighbors behind and beside want to peek

from their solar screened hidden bedrooms - go for it.

The view of my bent over butt serves you right,

and I do not whistle, I sing songs whose lyrics

I'm unsure of, which I fear is not charming,

to anyone.

 I also curse like a drunken sailor, 

at the debris, the worm, the slime on

the fountain

AND

 the asinine Supreme Court ruling on 

The Voter Rights Act Of 1965.

If you are uninformed, become informed.

This is historic stuff folks.

One of our most basic freedoms was torched today

and we'll see now if the House will have the cojones to save it, 

because they can...

Is it any wonder the goose committed suicide?