The 'George' question
I worked for Don Tobler years ago, and closely with his son Harmon. At first, it was an all-Jersey dairy farm. Then the butterfat premium for the milk they sold was changed, and they slowly moved to an all-Holstein herd.
One neighbor was an inquisitive sort but short on observation skills. He’d stop by and Don, as an example, would be using a shovel to clean an irrigation ditch.
“Hi, Don. Whatcha doing?”
“I’m cleaning a ditch, George.”
Or he could be painting a fence.
“Hi, Don. Whatcha doing?”
“I’m painting a fence, George.”
This got so prevalent that any time anyone asked a question for which the answer was plain as day, the asker was given the answer, followed by being called “George.”
The 'Silly' dog
We had been without a household dog for a while. Then our youngest daughter came to stay with us – she, her two kids and Naj, her German shepherd. Naj had had a serious learning experience and was recovering from a right-of-way dispute with a car. Naj lost.
One of Kelly Callahan’s kids came cruising through at work, looking for homes for a box of puppies. Their lineage was a duke’s mixture with some obvious border collie in the mix. I really liked one little girl of the batch and asked that she be saved for me long enough for me to make a phone call.
She came home with me that evening. She has a white mark on her head from mid-nose to the middle of her head, on an otherwise almost all black dog. Before I could come up with a name for her that I liked, the kids had been calling her “Feather” from the “feather” on her nose and head. So the name stuck.
Naj, in recovery, was spending most days outside in a makeshift kennel I threw together. With one paw in a cast plus severe pelvic injuries, she wanted to just lie in the shade and be miserable.
The puppy wanted to play and would nip at Naj until she would get up to defend herself. Feather became the “therapy” companion to Naj.
The two seemed to communicate well with each other. Feather was the vocal one, whining insistently when she needed out, or fed, or watered, or petted, or needing to have her butt kicked. The same whine, no matter what was wanted. Often, Feather would whine at the door as Naj stood silently by. When the door opened, Naj would dash outside in a hurry while Feather would nonchalantly turn back around and go lie down.
Then, one day, my daughter poked her head in where I was writing, and said, “I fed your silly dog.”
A week later, Feather was also answering to “Silly Dog.”
The currant (current) bush
I think this is one I picked up from Leo. I was working on a project and needed to operate a power tool.
I handed the end of an extension cord to the helping grandson and said, “Go find a current bush.”
He had been around me long enough to scamper off and find a place to plug the cord into. The boy’s father was there also and said, “Go find a WHAT?”
“A bush you plug a cord into that brings electrical current to you.”
The 'Sad' pie
Decades ago, my wife had a handful of hobbies which she got good enough at to teach others. Tole painting was one. Birds, flowers, etc., was painted on cups, mugs, plates and other knick-knacks.
One of the ladies she taught could gently be described as a little scatter-brained. She referred to herself this way, so it wasn’t a dig, it was just part of who she was. Nice person. Just seemed to forever be having a “bad hair” day spread over her every venture.
At suppertime one day, my wife asked if I would like some pie for dessert.
“Sure. What kind of pie?”
“Sad pie.”
She then produced what looked like a homemade cream pie. The kind where a frozen whipped topping and cream cheese are whipped together, then spread in a store-bought graham cracker pie crust, then topped with (usually) blueberry or cherry canned pie filling. This pie was almost half cherry and the remainder blueberry. It also looked a little disheveled.
Elli told me where it came from, her perpetually rattled tole painting student. Said “This is kind of a sad pie, but I wanted to do something nice for you since you’ve been so patient teaching me to paint,” at which she half-tripped coming in the door and the already sad pie fell, luckily landing bottom-side down on the floor.
So now the fruit-topped crème pies are “Sad Pie” at our house.
