Chicken Diet, The Wrecker, and Bare Footin’

A few months ago the son traded some of my stuff for a wrecker body. I didn’t think I really needed one. My current body is pretty wrecked as it is. Not only that, I have several wrecked cars and trucks. Still, the son made the deal with my stuff, took my ton truck to put it on, and made the arrangements to have it installed. It seems like somebody here exceeded his authority.

The stories in this column are true. Averett lives a dull life in rural Southside Virginia with his wife Management, two children and a rotating assortment of goats, dogs, cats, snakes and other local fauna.

On the other hand, having a personal wrecker could come in handy. I can move more stuff more easily which means I can bring more stuff home faster. I don’t know if the son got permission from his mom, Management, but if he did I suspect his sales pitch was more like, “Dad can haul stuff away easier than Dad can bring more stuff home.” On a positive note that isn’t my issue. He can take that up with his mom.

I just found out that there is something chickens won’t eat. I’ve always thought of chickens as sort of more attractive but less intelligent buzzards. Last week I pulled down some tent caterpillar nests-tents-or whatever they build and threw them into the chicken pen. They didn’t even look at them. Maybe they (the chickens) aren’t as stupid as they look. In defense of buzzards they are really attractive several hundred feet in the air. They get uglier the closer they get. I’ve met some people like that.

My big tank for the Grand-brat’s cave is supposed to be delivered this week. Then all I have to do is dig a hole, put the tank in the hole, cut some doors in it, and bury it. It shouldn’t take more than a few years for this project. On the positive side the G-brats won’t be old enough to play in it for a few years. That beats the heck out of the fruit trees I planted for them that won’t be producing until the G-brats are tweeners. Tweeners, by the way, is that awkward time when children are between childhood and human.

A few weeks ago I hurt one of my toes and have been wearing crocks. I have to say that crocks are one of the few trends that I like. On the other hand, I suspect I will be wearing them long after everyone else has put them in the closet with their blue suede shoes, docksiders and penny loafers.

The problem with crocks is I’d rather go barefooted anyway and they are just so easy to kick off. My theory is that nobody needs to look at my feet anyway so nobody should notice if I’m not wearing shoes. My theory is apparently wrong. People who don’t notice anything else notice the lack of shoes. Something is wrong here but when I tried to discuss it with Management she agreed with them.

The daughter just called and I don’t know if I was complemented or insulted. She had just watched a television program called something like “Extreme Cheapskate” and she says there was nothing on it that I haven’t done, am doing, am planning on doing or would not do.

I am not cheap-I am thrifty. The fact that I believe it is possible to make a profit on most things isn’t cheap. It is capitalism. Cheapskates are the folks who don’t enjoy life to save money. I enjoy life by saving and making money.

Finally, I just realized wrecker is the wrong name for a tow-truck. They weren’t designed to wreck things; they are for cleaning up wrecks. A more correct name would be an Anti-wrecker. On the other hand, I have personally been responsible for multiple wrecks. If you count things I’ve wrecked other than cars and trucks I have a pretty impressive wrecking record. Just call me the wrecker.

In fact, if you count unplanned emergency landings, sledding incidents, horse riding incidents where the horse ended up down side up, and running a boat into a concrete wall as wrecks I have successfully wrecked every mode of transportation possible with the exception of a train.

Since I have building a trackless train on my project list that’s still a possibility. Life is good and filled with interesting possibilities.

As lawn mowers are not generally considered transportation we will not discuss how or why I ran a lawn mower into a well digging machine. For some reason my wife and offspring have claimed that story and continue to tell their less than accurate version at every opportunity.

You would think this would be something they would ignore-much as they ignore their own accidents that I helped them resolve but NO.

Somehow the well digging machine and lawnmower incident is one of their favorite stories. I just don’t understand it.