Cap'n Pryce & Scallywag Snook | Halloween 2010

Who names their bird after the town they live in? My sister.

And who makes their son dress up in a pirate costume for Halloween even when he is crying his eyes out? My sister.

And who forgets all about being sad the minute there's a bird on his shoulder? Pryce.

Friday Ku-Tip: Just another day in Aggieland

Yesterday some weird events happened on campus. Luckily, everything turned out okay. And while I'm not saying that this abnormal activity is anything to laugh about, I can't help but share some of the humerous events that happened because of the drama on campus.

I invented a new word. Spreadshit. Spreadshit? Spreadshit is what happens when you're thinking of the words spreadsheet and list. Spreadshit is what happens when you're on lock down in your office thinking about the armed suspect on campus and trying to multitask and have a conversation at the same time. Spreadshit. Add it to your vocabulary. It's kinda fun to say. Spreadshit.

I had to ask permission to go to the bathroom. I haven't asked permission to go to the bathroom in a million years. It was awkward. But I had to go. Thank goodness they let me.

My immediate family did not call, text, Facebook, moarse code or stone tablet me to see if I was okay. I called my sister to fill her in and tell her thanks for caring. Her response? "I don't get on the damn Internet." Point taken.

I called my dad to tell him and Mom what had happened and that I was safe. Dad said he had heard about the events on campus but got busy feeding cows and didn't worry to call me. His response? "I knew if that shooter ran into you that you'd show him a thing or two." Compliment? I think so. Thanks Dad.

I tried calling Brady five times to tell him I was okay. Brady never answered. Brady never called me to see if I was okay. Almost two hours later I finally made it home. Brady is washing the mower. Makes sense why he didn't answer his phone. I walk up to him and pretend to be mad and ask, "Did you even hear what happened today on campus?" And I proceed to tell him. And he smiles and says, "Jenna, you know I live in a bubble."

Apparently my entire family lives in a bubble. Note to self.

And, finally. I know the old excuse "My dog ate my homework" has been used for years. Even decades. Heck, possibly even centuries. But now I can legitimately use the excuse "But there was an armed suspect on campus."

Yep, that's the excuse I used yesterday when I got home at dark and couldn't see to work out. And that is the excuse I used when I laid on the couch and didn't feed the animals or cook supper.

And my sweet husband that lives in a bubble fed the animals without one little gripe.

Ku-Tip: Welcome to Aggieland. Please leave all plastic training rifles at home. Please.

456 words.

The Guard Dog That Wasn't

Why living in the country is awesome:

• Lots of space
• Lots of stars
• Lots of peace and quiet

Why living in the country isn't awesome:

• Weird noises scare me
• The dark scares me
• Being home alone scares me

Brady thinks it's funny when I act like a scared little 2-year-old. Which is why I think it's funny when Brady acts like a scared little 2-year-old. Although he would never admit it.

One night in particular, Brady went out back to put Massey up for the night. She never barks. It's one of the reasons we choose to claim her. Except this night, she started barking at something in the dark.

Our wannabe guard dog playing dead as part of her attack method

Playing innocent is also part of her game

Protecting Brady from big bad monsters

If you haven't ever lived in the country, or haven't lived in the country in a while, you may not realize that when I say dark, I mean pitch black. No moonlight. No street lights. No stars. So now we all agree why this can be scary.

As soon as Massey started barking, Brady claims he heard a thundering noise.

Thud. Thump. Thud. Thump. Thud. Thump.

Are you scared yet? Well you should be.

Massey ran out in front of Brady into the dark, when all of a sudden, she came hauling ass back past him.

Guard dog reporting for duty, sir

Don't make me come over there and lick you to death

 The thundering noise got closer.

Thud. Thump. Thud. Thump. Thud. Thump.

Brady is now running after our dog. Our supposedly guard dog. Our dog who is supposed to protect us and scare big bad monsters away. Yep, she tucked her tail between her legs and ran as fast as she could back into her pen. And Brady was right behind her.

I'm gonna come at you like a spider monkey

See what I did to this Frisbee? Don't tempt me.

As soon as Brady shuts himself and the wannabe guard dog in the pen, a huge horse runs past. A dang horse. It wasn't a big bad monster. Just a horse.

This would have made more sense if we had owned a horse. But we didn't.

If a neighbor's horse decides the grass is greener on the other side, do you get to keep the horse? We couldn't find any laws pertaining to roaming horses. So, Brady delivered the horse back to our neighbors. Brady walking as calmly as he can while the horse chases him the whole way. Sometimes Brady having to run around in circles to keep the horse from running him over.

I think the horse thought this was fun.

Anyway, the horse found his hole in the fence and reluctantly went back home. Back home where the grass isn't always greener. And there are no wannabe guard dogs to pester. Or 24-year-old boys to scare. Cause I wasn't scared. But Brady was. His pounding heart and wide eyes told me so.

448 words.

Friday Ku-Tip: How to catch a peacock

Last summer I found a peacock. Found as in I was driving to work down our dusty gravel road when a random peacock darted out in front of me and decided to waddle (do peacocks waddle?) down the middle of the road. It was like a peacock on parade. And it wouldn't get out of my way.

So during my 35-minute commute to work, I had nothing to do but dream up how I would catch this peacock and make it my pet and hug it and love it and call it George. Or Petey. Yep, Petey the peacock. I like the sound of that.

Since Brady was out of town for the week doing manual labor for his parents in Garden City, I figured this was the perfect opportunity to surprise him with our very own peacock upon his return. Surprised wouldn't even have captured his reaction appropriately, especially since Brady has always openly declared his complete hatred of owning any type of fowl. Ducks. Guineas. Chickens. And peacocks.

Ignoring his complete hatred for all things fowl, I decided I wanted to try to catch the peacock anyway, and relied on the power of Facebook and my Facebook friends for advice on how to actually achieve this.

I received a variety of suggestions in less than a few hours. My favorites included:

• Using cheerios to lure it down the road into a pen
• Chasing it with a fishing net and strategically making sure this net landed on the peacock
• Enlisting the help of a full-length mirror to make the peacock think it had a friend it needed to follow
• Using the full-length mirror to make the peacock think there were double the cheerios

Yep. I now had ideas. I was going to catch a peacock.

I called Brady to advise him of my plan. Without taking a breath, he told me I was not allowed to catch the peacock.

Then I hear some talking in the background. Brady laughs and gets back on the phone.

"Jenna," he says, "you're still not allowed to catch the peacock, but Deb's here, and she's supposedly an expert pheasant catcher. She says the key to catching any bird is to make sure you grab both its legs at the same time."

Thanks Deb. Great advice.

I never saw the peacock on my way home from work. I didn't see the peacock the next morning. I never saw the poor little lost peacock again. And, too bad. Cause it would have liked being my pet.

Ku-Tip: Never ask your friends for advice on how to catch a peacock. They'll tell you anything just to see if you'll embarrass yourself. Some will even offer to show up with a camera to capture the moment and call 911 if necessary.

465 words.

And the Pot Calls the Kettle Black

The husband, cowboy and teacher

You already know that Brady hates getting into arguments with me because he feels I intentionally use "lawyer talk" on him to win. Well, I do like to win. But I don't intentionally do anything. It's just how I argue. I like to use points.

1. They're effective
2. They keep my thoughts organized
3. They annoy Brady

There, so sue me.

But, now there's a little bit of the pot calling the kettle black. Have you ever gotten into an argument with a husband who is not only a teacher, but a pretty darn good one at that?

This conversation actually happened yesterday while Brady was squinting to see what he was working on using his iPad.

Jenna: "Have you even worn your new glasses yet?"

Brady: "Nope."

Jenna: "Why not? Why did we spend money to get your eyes checked and buy glasses if you weren't going to wear them?"

Brady: "Because I see worse with them on. And I never even wanted to get my eyes checked. You made me."

Jenna: "You have to wear them for a while to get used to them. Will you please go get your glasses and wear them!"

Brady: "I'm not going out to the barn to get them. Maybe if you would be a little more constructive instead of just yelling at me than I would want to go get my glasses."

Jenna: "Fine, here's constructive for you. Will you please carry your glasses with you at all times so you can wear them when necessary?"

Brady: "Fine."

Constructive? Really?

Stay tuned for the next courtroom/classroom battle.

267 words.

Ran to the Chicken

Saturday I ran to the Chicken. I did not run to the Chicken because of a drink special. Or because of half off Tijuana fries. Or because I wanted to grab the last set of dominoes from the bar. Nope. I ran to the Chicken because I paid to run to the Chicken. All 3.1 miles of it.

Fortunately for Brady, he decided to get really sick Friday night, so he did not have to run to the Chicken with me. Unfortunately for Massey, she had no choice.

Since this was a fun run with NO rules, everything but the kitchen sink was allowed. Dogs. Bikes. Rollerbladers. Two college guys on a tandem bike. College kids in costumes. Dogs in costumes. A chicken. You get the point.

I politely hung out in the back of the pack since I would be dragging my sidekick along. Bad idea. I have always known that both Brady and I are very competitive, but it seems we own a very competitive canine as well. Massey took off like the lead dog in an Iditarod race. Only there was no snow. Or scenic landscape. Just asphalt and bars.

What did I enjoy most about the race? I passed a lot of people. A lot. And most of them were younger than me. Take that college kids.

I dropped my stupid cell phone twice. Once, I'll forgive myself. Twice, I would have put myself in time out if I had the chance. Luckily, it still works. It looks like it just survived a cat fight, but it works.

I got hit on by a team of college guys wearing pink. I was wearing pink. They wanted me to join their "pink" team. Massey too. Too bad I was too fast for them.

Massey got lots of "Oh, how cute." "That's the best looking mutt I've ever seen." "She's doing so good." She also got several "nose" slaps as a sign of encouragement.

Brady even left the comfort of the truck (I was supposed to take him to the doctor as soon as the race was over) to cheer us on. Massey saw him and got sidetracked. Thanks Brady.

We sprinted across the finish line sometime around 27:30. That is my best guess since I forgot to wear a watch and since I started long after the gun went off.

We got cheated out of a prize since they didn't categorize humans with dogs as a separate group. In fact, I wasn't too excited how they categorized any of the groups. My group alone consisted of 25- to 39-year-olds. Seriously? You've got to be kidding me.

So, I finally ran to the Chicken. And I have a T-shirt to prove it. And, now I'm contemplating something I told myself I would never do again. I'm thinking about training for another half marathon in the spring. And making Brady do it with me.

I'm just too damn competitive for my own good. Thanks Massey for pushing (I mean pulling) me to do my best. And thanks Chicken for letting me run to you. I've had 10 years of great memories with you. Many Goodnight Irene nights. Sangritas. Ring dunkings. Aggie football wins. Aggie football losses.

And, now, my own Chicken Iditarod.

543 words.

Expecting Mia Photo Shoot

I already know what you will think when you look through these pictures, so I'll beat you to it.

Yes, I took them.

Yes, they have been digitally post-processed. That's how I roll.

Yes, I will take your pictures.

No, I am not free. :)

I do not consider myself a professional, but I do consider myself pretty handy with the camera. I'll let you decide for yourself.

Harlow Photo Shoot
Location: Garden City, TX









75 words.