Happy Monday! Whoo, weekend, you are like a candle in the wiiiiind with your quickness.
It is random Dad story day. I was going to tell them over the weekend but someone who likes them the most named Jim does not read my blog until Monday so I saved them. YOU’RE WELCOME JIM.
My dad told me a story recently and he was all “THIS ONE’S FOR YOUR BLOG.” I think because animals were involved and he knows I’m a sucker for animal stories. Like, if this were caveman times, that would be how the cavemen would court me. With good animal stories told around the fire. I am a SUCKER for them. But then Dad told me ANOTHER story and it was MORE bloggy. The original one was kind of meh. The second one was kind of weird. I like weird even more than I like animally. Best? Weird AND animally.
But out of deference to him I will tell them BOTH even though he didn’t tell me I could tell you the second one. Although he didn’t specifically say I COULDN’T, either. So I’m going to go with “it’s ok to tell both.” I mean, G.I. Joe used to tell me that knowing was half the battle but I’m pretty sure that not-knowing is a good part of the battle, too, because then you can claim ignorance.
FIRST DAD STORY
He went to visit his best friend (listen, he and his BFF have been BFFs since they were wee kiddos and they are in their 60s, how adorable is that? The most, is how) and his best friend has a camp and there’s this thing that I don’t 100% understand up there where the BFF stores corn. And he put 100 pounds of corn in it, and the next day the corn was GONE. And he was all, “Amy’s dad, where could the corn be, that is a lot of corn.” So my dad, who’s totally Black Ops when it comes to surveillance, I think because he’s sure that the government is watching him but I can’t guarantee that, set up his night-vision camera and they all tee-heed their way away and then the next day pulled the SD card to see what’s up with the corn thieves and guess what it was?
No, totally not a penguin, ALSO my guess, ALWAYS my first guess, or a fisher, because I was hoping it would be a fisher again, those things rule.
IT WAS A TRICKY RACCOON!
The raccoon was climbing up a little ladder thingy and spinning this wheel thingy and corn was falling out. Then THREE OTHER RACCOONS were below, gobbling up the corn. OH. And here’s the best part, ready? Guess who ELSE was eating the purloined corn?
A PORCUPINE! ZOMG!
So the raccoon family was FRIENDS with the porcupine! They were all eating the purloined corn TOGETHER! I know, right? That is too cute for WORDS! It is like an Animal Planet SITCOM! I asked my dad if the porcupine and the raccoons were friends and he said, “Well, the porcupine wasn’t quilling the raccoons so I guess they got along alright.” Hee! Quilling.
Apparently my dad’s BFF wasn’t amused by the corn thievery so my dad and his BFF set up some sort of raccoon cockblockery where the raccoon couldn’t get into the corn again. I find this sad. Interspecies friends are ADORABLE. What will they talk about now? It’s not like they have television programs to discuss, or bowling. I guess they could discuss the kids, or maybe the weather, but how far will that go? That friendship will get stale fast. This might be the end of their friendship, seriously. I am totally bummed about this end of a friendship.
SECOND DAD STORY
The second story is just kind of bizarre. So my dad has a friend who is handicapped and can’t walk. (I promise I’m not making fun of this guy, I barely know him, I’m not enough of an asshole to mock the handicapped, and he was injured in Vietnam which I find admirable. Well, OBVIOUSLY not that he was injured. That he served.) So he found a thing online where you could get – no, wait, I’m totally not even kidding – A HELPER MULE.
I was not aware that this is a thing but my dad swears that this is a thing and I have to assume it is. Who would make up “helper mule?” I am not having luck finding anything on the interwebs about this other than a random mention on Wikipedia that such a situation exists.
Anyway, so this guy BOUGHT A HELPER MULE and he’s totally getting it shipped to him.
So my dad and I had the following conversation:
Me: So, wait, what’s he going to DO with the helper mule?
Dad: Ride it.
Me: Wait, what? Ride it? Ride it where?
Dad: I don’t know. Around.
Me: He has a Rascal scooter. Why does he need a mule?
Dad: It’s a HELPER mule.
Me: But the Rascal scooter’s helping him, too. Is that a Helper Rascal scooter?
Dad: That mule is trained to help people.
Me: HELP THEM DO WHAT.
Dad: I don’t know. Apparently, it kneels down so you can get on it. Then ride it.
Me: HE HAS A RASCAL SCOOTER. WHY DOES HE NEED A MULE. YOU DON’T LIVE IN THE OUTBACK. Or the Grand Canyon. He lives in TOWN. This is suspect.
Dad: I’m not 100% sure why. He hasn’t answered me when I ask him that. Why do you keep calling it a Rascal scooter? It’s like you’re calling it by its first and last name. Like Abraham Lincoln. Or Bob Dylan. I think you can just call it a Rascal. Like Cher.
Me: I don’t know. Just calling it a Rascal seems ambiguous. “He has a Rascal!” You might think I mean he has a scamp who lives with him, I don’t know. ANYWAY. That Rascal scooter is perfectly adequate for his needs. I feel like maybe he just wanted a pet mule. Which I can’t really fault him for. Who doesn’t want an awesome pet, now and again? But maybe you should have encouraged him to get a helper MONKEY. Those things can open cabinets and bring you foodstuffs. Helper mules most definitely cannot open cabinets or bring you Hohos or Sunkist sodas.
Dad: He can open his own cabinets. It’s his legs that don’t work. His arms work fine. Also, he has a wife, she can bring him TV snacks, I suppose.
Me: Damn, then I guess he doesn’t need a monkey. Probably for the best; in some movie I watched like five minutes of one time before it freaked me out too much and I changed the channel, a helper monkey got possessed by the devil.
Dad: That’s probably an unlikely scenario.
Me: I don’t know. Monkeys are evil, remember the time we went to Parc Safari in Canada and they tore all the detailing off the guy’s car in front of us?
Dad: Heh. Yeah. That was funny.
Me: It totally was. But also frightening, because it could have been your face they were tearing up so efficiently, you know?
Dad: Probably not, unless you got out of the car.
Me: True. I was NOT getting out of the car. Not with all of those dastardly monkeys with their quick hands around. I was wearing a sparkly shirt that day. They obviously were drawn to sparkly things. I would have been TOAST. So, wait, who’s going to take care of the mule?
Dad: I don’t know.
Me: His wife? I can’t imagine his wife taking care of that mule. She’s totally classy. And he can’t. The Rascal scooter would get mule poo and mud in the wheels and then it wouldn’t run.
Me: I feel this mule plan is not well-thought-out. Unless maybe he’s moving to the Grand Canyon and needs it to scale the paths and pack in water and granola bars or something.
Dad: I don’t think he’s doing that.
Me: I kind of want to pet that mule.
Dad: I knew you would want that. We’ll go see the mule when you come home this summer.
Me: Will it let me ride it?
Dad: You’re not handicapped.
Me: No. But it’s a HELPER mule. I can’t imagine it wouldn’t want to be helpful. And that would be helpful. I only got to ride a horse once, for like three minutes. I would feel extraordinarily helped if I got to ride a mule for longer than three minutes.
Dad: I can see your point. We’ll talk to the mule about helping you out this summer. You can be like his community service project.
So this really is exciting animal day. We have: raccoons, porcupines, AND mules. I know. I think it’s only a matter of time before the National Wildlife Service wants me to come and work for them, right? I would be the BEST at that, no joke. Oh, wait, that would involve a lot of walking. I hate walking. SNAP. I could totally ride a helper mule. This is a very good plan.
I like that I have my life all planned out now. I feel really good about this. I’m going to name my mule Sal. I think you have to, right? There’s a song about a mule named Sal and everything. Then I can sing the Erie Canal song TO my mule, which he or she would love, as Sal is totally a unisex name, and we would be INTERSPECIES FRIENDS.
Seriously, this is just the best. I’m going to start packing now! Huzzah!
(P.S. Happy birthday, N.! With apologies for changing this a bit to our mutual love, Stephen Sondheim, what would I do without you? How would I ever get through? Who would I complain to for hours? Who’d bring me the flowers when I have the flu? Have a wonderful day, and more than that, have a wonderful year!)