It was Saturday evening, and I was running behind as usual. Dan was gone, and my parents offered to take the kids and I for dinner.
They were supposed to arrive at our house after 4:30 mass. So, by my calculations, they should get to my house at 5:35. We weren’t completely put together when I heard a truck pull in the driveway. It was only 5:15. Wow! That must have been a short mass I thought to myself.
“They’re here! Boys, put your shoes and jackets on. Open the back door, and let them in. I still have to finish Ruthie’s hair, and mine!”
I heard the back door open.
“Do you see them?”
The initial answer was “Yes”, followed by, “Wait it is Uncle David”.
Now to my watchman’s defense both my brother and Dad drive trucks that happen to be the same model and make. They are, however, a different color.
I continued to yell from the bathroom as I fixed my client’s hair (AKA: Ruthie). “What is he doing? Did he get out of his truck?”
“Yeah. He went in our barn.”
Now, this picture was taken as we were getting ready to have the roof replaced, but you get the idea.
In my mind, the barn is to house our camper, boat, bikes, lawn mower, scooters…
“Well, I am sure he is here to borrow something. Griffin, go out and ask him if he found what he is looking for.”
My messenger left and quickly returned.
“Mom, let’s just say you DO NOT want to go out there!”
It is deer season. And while, I think my barn should be used to store our things, it would appear my brother thinks differently.
Apparently, our barn is also the perfect place to hang a freshly killed deer.
Only At My House,