This may go down in history as the “spring” that never was. Actual temperatures or wind chills below zero nearly every night. And the wind. You remember that old song that went something like “They call the wind Mariah?” I’ve called it a lot more names that are more descriptive than Mariah the last few weeks.
You see, it’s the heifers. I bought all these heifers for Shirley. Because all I gave her at Christmas was a stopper for the kitchen sink. And I was feeling guilty. She’s getting a little older and a little wiser. She didn’t jump up and down and cheer because she would be able to check heifers at night. No, she didn’t. Because she has kind of bad knees. And walking around in a yard full of frozen cow poop with a flashlight is not really good for someone with sore knees. But…nothing too good for a cowgirl! I made that up.
When I purchased the heifers, I assured Shirley that the long-range forecast was for a mild, warm March. I made that up, too. I’m good at making stuff up (like the dog, John). Anyway, it’s not turning out like that.
And then, I was going to lie to you, my readers. And that hurt. You see, lately I’ve been limping around. When people ask me what happened, I tell them a horse kicked me. Or a cow stepped on my foot. Or I was changing the yard light and the ladder slid and I fell and injured my leg. But, I have a conscience, and couldn’t maintain those lies.
I have an ingrown toenail. Sorry. But I had to tell someone. So what does Shirley tell me I have to do? Dig it out! Dig it out! Dig it out? It brought me to a screaming fit when I just stared or pointed at it. It was bad. Really bad. So I did like on TV, I phoned a friend. He said, “Dig it out! It will make you cry, but dig it out!”
I told him to go to hell. I would rather limp.
So I googled it. Yup. I googled it. For a home remedy. And I found one. Soak your foot in Epsom salt water for 20 minutes. Hot water. Real hot water. I think Shirley actually enjoyed watching me scream as I stuck that throbbing foot in that kettle of hot water. If I would have had feathers, you could have plucked me clean. Remember how those scalded chickens stank? But that’s another story.
Back to the remedy. After scalding that painful foot for 20 minutes, slice a raw onion, and rub that raw onion on the toe. That didn’t hurt as bad as it sounds, because I think Shirley had killed most of the nerves with the hot water. So, I rubbed and squeezed that raw onion on that big old shiny red toe.
Then to top it off, I had to wrap it in basil leaves. We have basil growing in the windowsill. Right next to the marijuana. Not really, just seeing if the law enforcement guys read this. Just kidding. Just kidding.
By now, that toe was looking like a chef salad! And it was near dinnertime. I hollered out to the kitchen to Shirley, “What’s for dinner?”
“Frying burgers,” she replied. “Do you want a slice of onion on yours?”
Sometimes, she makes me nervous.