Our Random House

I’m waiting for a phone call and bored, so I’m writing this.  My cell’s touchy screen doesn’t like to be messed with and putting it in my pocket will cause a call to head for the nearest voice mail.

So here I sit.

The other day I made some decisions.  I know I’m not supposed to, but I also know these thoughts were in my head before the ice incident.

I went into my room to look at things in it and realized my PS2 wasn’t where it belongs.   Since the grandsons left a few months ago, I haven’t played it, so I have no idea when it went missing.  8 year-olds are not the best at keeping things in their place, so I looked under the bed, beside the stand it sat on, behind the TV and pretty much anywhere else I could think of.   I couldn’t find it.

Technically, it is my youngest daughter’s.  She had mine because a game she wanted to play could only be played on my older version and not her newer version.  She had previously mentioned that she wanted hers back, since she no longer played the game that required the initial switch, and had to keep both to transfer her data from mine to hers.  She swears she hasn’t moved it to her room yet.

She and DS3 also looked for it after I informed them of its ability to disappear.   We have yet to find it.  We have no idea where it went.  I’m assuming someone moved or borrowed it, lost in their room and will find it eventually.  Though, honestly, none of the kids would’ve done that without asking me, so it’s a mystery for now.

A few weeks ago, DD3 had set her bottle of Dr. Pepper (sigh) on the island in the kitchen.   It was a good 12 inches from the edge.  I passed between the island and the refrigerator.   I heard a distinct sound of plastic hitting metal.  My daughter was facing the area I was in.  The phrase “eyes as big as saucers” is a good way to describe her.  Following her stare, I turned and saw the soda bottle on the floor behind me.   I said, “Oh, shoot.  How did I hit that?  I wasn’t near it.”  As soon as I said it, I realized there was no way I hit it with my right side and sent it behind me into the appliance on my left.

Her eyes slowly moved to mine as she said, “Mom.  It didn’t fall.  I was looking right at it.  It went sideways across the island and into the refrigerator like someone whacked the side with a hand or something.”

I just sighed.  We’ve had some weird issues in the past, but I thought they were taken care of.  No, I don’t believe in ghosts, but we’ve had a few odd things happen off and on.  One day I might write about them, but not now.

Normally whoever puts the goats away shuts them in while they’re eating a bit of feed.   It’s easier to shut the door if you don’t have to fight them to do it.   We don’t have a livestock guardian dog; animals are shut in for their safety during the night.

Last night, DS3 helped me put all the critters away.  We had to get more hay from the loft, so the goats were done with their grain before we were finished, and we had to hold them back to get the door shut.  The latch closes automatically, but I always flick it down just in case it doesn’t.

I woke up late this morning and had to hurry to put the dogs out.   How I do my mornings is dependent upon weather.  Since it was in single digits, the dogs get let out and back in as soon as they’re done.  The Boxer and Mal Mix can’t tolerate the cold.  The Husky, on the other hand, I could leave out all day and he’d love it.

I stood shivering in the doorway, waiting for them to go, and I looked at the goat barn knowing the Obers were probably kicking the daylights out of the closed latched door.  They don’t like it when I’m late.   Noticing the Husky was eating something, I opened the door and told him to knock it off.  I could hear the goats bleating.  I realized I could clearly hear the goats bleating.   They were at their gate waiting for me.

It took a few seconds for my brain to process this: the barn was locked shut yet the goats were outside of it.   Feeling confused is an understatement.   I just stood there, staring at them, thinking What…?

I brought the dogs in, threw on my gear and went out to check them over.  They had been outside with no shelter, water or hay for who knows how long.   We put them in at sundown.  That was at 5 pm.  It was now about 8 am. I had to mentally run through us putting them away.

I know we shut the door. 

Did I flick the latch to make sure it locked? 

I’m sure I did. 

But did I?

There is no way those goats got out on their own, so humans were involved somehow whether someone let them out or we failed to lock them in correctly.

We have coyotes, bobcats and other wildlife.  Having livestock unprotected is a bad move.   That I could’ve been careless and cost one or both their lives bothers me to no end.   The gate was chained like normal.  I had to unwrap it to enter their pasture.  The barn door was locked.

If it had failed to latch, we would’ve known before we got into the house.  They would’ve hit the door open.  It is possible it didn’t, but they didn’t notice until later.  Or it was latched just enough to withstand a jump or two and open later.   They could’ve knocked it shut again after they got out causing it to lock.   All these scenarios kept running through my head.

I sent DS2, who is at work, a text asking him if he let them out.  He doesn’t normally do that, so he may have and not latched the door open.  I’m still waiting to hear from him. I asked DS1, who works overnight, if he had noticed or heard them when he left for work.  They usually bleat at whoever leaves the house.  He hadn’t.

(I had to look up whoever/whomever grammar rules – yes, I do follow them sometimes.  I couldn’t decide, because the explanations didn’t make sense, so I’m leaving it.)

Just some highlights of our random house.   Three mysteries that I am determined but may never solve.    Seriously, where is Sherlock when you need him?

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