All Duck Jokes Aside…

11222641_10207088710479820_3429991043406163465_nMay has been a great month. If you’re a duck.

Ohhhhhhh. HAHAHAHAHA. Wooooo…snort…hahahahaha! That’s a good one. Yeah. Hysterical.

For the record, I am not a duck.

The month of May in my-neck-of-the-woods Oklahoma is rather famous for being a thunderstormy time of year. Rainy days are not a shock during the fifth month of the year around here. Usually.

Day after day after day after day of rain is, however, a different story. I think we have had something like 30 days of rain in the last 24 days.

I may have that wrong.

Whatever the actual number, it’s a lot. It’s way more rainy days than not rainy days.

1509948_10152813494209422_1517234258837950771_nWhat this means for me: Mud. Lots and lots of mud. Lots of dogs sporting lots of mud.

I’ve tried to look at the situation from an artistic standpoint. You know, you look at clouds to see what shapes you can find? Well, I’m looking at the mud patterns on the dogs, on the floor, on the furniture, on my clothes, on my bedspread to see what I can see.

So far I just see mud.

And with all of the storms and wet and gunk, we’ve had to limit the dogs’ yard time to keep the whole fenced area from turning into a giant swamp.

What this means for me: Bored dogs.

Oh the dogs are bored. The energy they normally burn during several romp/wrestle/run sessions in the yard is now pinging around inside their little and not-so-little bodies like a bunch of bumble bees trapped inside a mason jar.

All attempts to entertain the beasts have failed and they are making up their own games.

What this means for me: Stuff is getting torn up.

The couches are no longer getting destroyed…that’s so yesterday. But with Sir Look-What-I-Can-Reach (aka: Kainan the wolfdog) in the house, mischief and mayhem are the order of the day. Or shall we say night.

Yeah, when the humans fall off into a muck-induced coma/sleep, Kainan apparently heads off in the house to find ways to entertain himself. Let’s see…victims include one half of a birthday cake (it was WAY out of reach…or so we thought…lemon…Boog the now seven year old cow dog was not pleased. Happy birthday anyway, Boog), one set of earbuds, electric dog clippers and blade guards (clippers survived…blade guards are lost somewhere in the grass we can’t yet mow because, you guessed it, it won’t stop raining), one Baylor Bears shirt that was to be a gift for a new high school graduate headed off to college next fall, two dog beds, one Dirty Dog door mat (yeah, that is ironic), and who knows what else.

I just really can’t keep track any longer.

We were warned that wolfdogs are smart and that they are mischievous – a dastardly combination. But just as no one can really explain how much a kidney stone hurts, no one can really tell you just how much havoc a wolfdog can wreak in your home.

I know, I know…dog trainer, heal thyself.

Brooke and Cookie go to ChinaI just think the rain may have melted my resolve. I think my guard has not only dropped, but has been sucked into the vortex that was once the underground condo the dogs were excavating in the backyard. The condo, by they way, has not held up well in the monsoon. We think it’s a combo of some structural issues and a sincere lack of French drains. The dogs are back at the drafting table. The condo may now be a Jacuzzi.

If the rain doesn’t stop soon, I fear even more drama could unfold. You see, the mechanism that operates our front gate is solar powered. That means it needs sunshine to continue to function. And we aren’t seeing much sunshine these days, months, years.

I could be wrong about the months, years part.

What this means to me: We could be trapped here.

bob 2Oh sure, we have food and water to last a bit, but if we truly end up stranded here, I have bad news for Bob the sheep. We have decided that in the event of extreme emergency, Bob will be the first animal consumed on Tails You Win Farm.

Bob hopes I could be wrong about that. 

Obviously I am kidding. We will not be eating Bob. Unless there is a zombie apocalypse.

What a zombie apocalypse could mean for Bob: Shish Ka-Bob.*

On the find-the-silver-lining front, all of this lovely freaking rain means that we are NOT currently experiencing a drought. We have very full ponds so all of the frogs, fish, turtles, geese, and, yes, ducks are quite deliriously happy.

1907455_10152813492479422_6046102528494206089_nBut even Jerry Swinefeld, our resident hog, is actually sick of the mud. I’m sick of the mud. The dogs are sick of the mud.

Truly, I’m not whining. Really I’m not. I’m not complaining. I’m feeling nothing but gratitude for nature’s bounty.

I could be wrong about that.

(*Nooooo…we will not really eat Bob.) 

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