Couldn't help it, now you all have that diaper commercial jingle rolling around in your head. ~insert evil laugh here~
I am all slap happy with myself. Husband was all ticked off at me this morning, doesn't matter that I spent almost 2 hours trying to get him awake. I apparently didn't try hard enough, nor did I do it the right way (behave yourselves boys). This meant he was running "late" to get to the bank and then to work an hour early. He would be unable to go get the Milo. So it fell to me.
Nope, I have never hauled the hay before, at least not this distance. It was always his job, you know the manly stuff. I can do most of it, but to be honest I rather enjoy the "I'm just a girl" with the pout (I am told that I can get a good pout look going even with these lips) and feign gender weakness. Don't start, I find it entertaining, plus I don't have to do all the freakin' chores, and with my history of finding new and unique ways to cause myself bodily harm, you should be happy that I do it. (Ok I am in a good ole playful mood today, it is driving the boys nuts)
Small and Medium loaded themselves up in my truck, and we were off for the nice 20 minute country ride. Of course I beat the hay guy to the leased farm, but only by 5 minutes. He loaded up 3 bales. Now I am dragging 4,200 lbs behind me. This makes me a bit nerves. I have visions of me having to call the Sheriff to get them to direct traffic as I wait for the hay guy to bring his tractor to the major intersection or railroad crossing I managed to dump one of the bales on.
At our first stop, Medium jumped out to see how far the last bale was hanging off the trailer. Only by this much, arms extended by a foot and a half. No worries there, at least for now. Most of the bulk is still on the trailer. First railroad crossing, no trains in the distance, I cringe as that last bale rocks. gggrrrr. . . I might end up self inducing a stroke the way I was clinching the steering wheel and attempting to watch the road and the side mirror at the same time.
And of course I live in the only area in South Central Kansas that has hills. One nice steep hill that sleds could fly down. Visions of the Sheriff and a nice hefty ticket flutter thorough my mind. Be nice to be able to tie them down, but with my intense paranoia about these things, it still wouldn't have helped. And people driving so close behind me that if a bale did fall, it would have landed on their car really didn't help the matter. Give me some room people. I finally waved one guy passed me.
Home with no incidents. The boys run and make sure that the cattle are all penned, while the pig decides to chase the boys down. Lots of giddy screaming coming from all three, boys and pig. We get out to the field, the cows making it known to the free world that they are starving to death. . . starving. . . mmmoooo. They are starving to death every time they hear my truck start. Now we have to unload one of these bales. Just me, the girl, and two little boys. Did I mention that they weigh over 1,400 lbs a piece? And that they are flattened on the bottom where they have been sitting?
But I and my mighty thighs (say a bad thing and I will find you) and my little minions thighs managed to rock the bale, just enough to send it over the edge. We sat on the second bale to be able to push the third off. There was a lot of yelling "I CAN'T HOLD IT!" MY BUTT HURTS!" "I CAN'T MOVE!" "IT'S GOING TO FALL ON ME!" With only one of those shouts emitting from my vocal cords. The cows joined the chorus as their moos changed from desperation, because according to them they haven't eaten in 3 year, to those of moon howling jubilation. Shortly after, as we unwrapped the bale, the jubilation turned to annoyance, and I swear that one of them has learned to cuss in human English.
Now, to just get the trailer unhitched.