Stupid Taco!

My brain sometimes (meaning often) doesn’t put puzzle pieces together as soon as they are presented. Brainy likes to take puzzle pieces and place them in ridiculous patterns before taking the time to put them together properly.

Donut (my next-door neighbor – the maternal hillbilly) was just outside calling Taco, her dog. I’m used to this now, but it still sounds rather funny because it sounds as if she’s beckoning a Tex-Mex menu item.

When Donut steps outside to call Taco in, Brainy likes to imagine a little four-legged fully loaded taco bounding across the yard enthusiastically to greet its human.

Today Donut was upset because Taco wasn’t responding to her calls, but finally Taco came running and Donut greeted the happy little dog by screaming, “Stupid Taco!”

Brainy first pictured a fully loaded taco wearing a dunce’s hat and sent the message down to my larynx and lungs to respond with laughter.

Then Brainy pictured a sad little taco dunce and sent the southbound message to stop laughing.

Then Brainy arranged the puzzle pieces in their proper order, remembering that Taco is an actual dog – a soul, with feelings – and sent a message down below to activate the tear ducts.

Occasionally my hillbilly neighbors provide ridiculous humor, but more often than not, they are loud, obnoxious and verbally abusive toward each other and their pets.

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Credit to Leah Flores for the “Sad Taco” image used as the featured image for this post.

Leah Flores is a Boise-based artist who brings together her love of photography and illustration to create adventuresome designs. Born in the Pacific Northwest on Leap Year Day 1988, Leah is a first-generation American with Costa Rican and Scottish roots. In her work you will find mountains, forests, and wildflowers woven with hand-lettered evocations to go explore the natural world.

View Leah Flores’ work.


Calling All Food!

Dee (my dear 70+ year old neighbor who passed away last October) is the one who gave the name Donut to the matriarch of the hillbilly family living next door, but to my knowledge Donut is not aware of her nickname.

Coincidentally, Donut named her dog and cat Taco and Oreo.

Several times a week I hear her calling for one or both of them, either to call them in for the night or to call them in for their dinner.

Donut calling for Taco and Oreo is enough to make one hungry. It’s like food calling food to come in and eat their food.

I posted this on Facebook a month or two ago and was surprised by how many of my friends name their pets after food items, but then again I once heard of a woman who named her daughter Frappuccino, so I guess naming your pet Hamburger Helper or Chips Ahoy isn’t much of a stretch.

The Neighbors’ Oven Dilemma

A few nights ago I heard a knock on my door. It was Donut (my next-door neighbor) holding a giant metal baking pan wrapped in foil.

My first assumption was that she was bringing me some leftover home cooking. I turned on the porch light and opened the screen door.

“Can you put this in your oven?” she asked. “That glowin’ thing in my oven got all burned up and this thing ain’t done cookin’.”

This wasn’t the first time she has asked to use my oven. Twice before she has wanted to use my oven and twice before I’ve explained to her that since I live alone and don’t do a lot of baking I only have a little toaster oven that couldn’t possibly accommodate her giant baking pan.

For the third time in the last three or four years she acted completely shocked that I do my baking in a toaster oven. And for the third time she told me I needed a larger oven. (She was very judgmental in her tone.)

I’m not sure why I need a larger oven … unless I need to be able to provide Donut with baking options during the holidays or when her element burns up.

I suggested she finish baking the dish on her backyard grill.

“I can’t do that!” she stated emphatically. “Those things are just for hamburgers and weenies. They’re just made for meat cookin’. You’re not s’post to cook anything else on ’em.”

I guess somebody should have told my mother that outdoor grills were just made for “meat cookin'”. When I was 10-years-old we moved from Dallas to the small town of Roxton, Texas. It took a few weeks to get our utilities turned on and we cooked an a grill during that time. Mom made a casserole with that sucker! I would have preferred hot dogs.

Gonorrhea’s Surprise Visit

I biked up to the Dollar General store this morning and on the way home, just as I crossed the intersection on the corner, a friend of Einstein’s pulled up next door.

The friend took a couple of minutes getting out of his car because he was busy studying his Adam’s apple in the rear view mirror.

I heard the hillbillies’ back door slam as I was walking my bike up the front porch steps, and as Einstein was walking up the driveway I heard him yell out, “Hey, Gonorrhea! I didn’t know you was comin’ over today!”

So I guess Gonorrhea showed up out of the blue, without warning, but I suppose that’s the way it always goes with such infections.

Gonorrhea isn’t exactly a handsome guy, but he’s not bad looking at all … especially for a S.T.D.