As the title indicates, there are things going on on several fronts… some of which include a delayed display of common sense.
This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, stories from the RV parks where I’ve camped. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me.
Much to my delight – and I’m sure his – Roscoe the Raccoon was released in to the wild a couple days ago.
He was miserable, cowering in the corner of the cage, or alternately trying to escape and pushing his cage around the room. It broke my heart to see him so unhappy. He was sweet, and didn’t bite unless you tried to pick him up or if he got scared. But he never bonded with us and it looked like he never would.
I really wanted to release him at the location where his brothers and sisters were released. The guys decided not to wait and instead released him about a mile or so away from the office in a rural area near a creek.
Tales From The RV Park
Holy Heavy Drinkers, Batman!
Well, ya. That about sums up my encounters with several of the residents so far. It seems drinking is a HUGE part of the evenings and weekends for many of them. They’re all quite nice, just often sloshed.
Last weekend I met a pair of brothers at the pool. Both were perfect gentlemen, busy tying one on. This seemed to be a usual event for them. For now I’ll call them Brother 1 (who lives here) and Brother 2 (who lives nearby and was visiting).
After I expressed admiration of Brother 2’s custom three-wheeled motorcycle with the eight-cylinder Ford 351 engine, he offered to take me for a spin around town on it the next morning. We worked out a time, and I left the pool shortly thereafter. According to another neighbor, they stayed and continued partying late.
The next morning I’m all set to go for my ride on the awesome three-wheeled bike, decked out in my riding gear. An hour later I’m still waiting. I tired of waiting and walked down to their trailer and knocked. They were barely awake at 11:00 a.m.
I got the impression that in the light of day Brother 2 – now somewhat sobered up but seriously hungover – thought taking the blond gal for a ride on the loud bike wasn’t as appealing as it had been the evening before. Plus, he could probably see me better without the beer goggles. And I wasn’t in the little blue bikini anymore – I was in jeans and a head scarf for riding. Head scarf = not my best look.
However, being a polite Texan, Brother 2 made good on his word and we went for a short spin around the town. And it was awesome – everyone gave us a “thumb’s up” as we passed by.
Then last night during my usual evening walk around the park, I see another resident, whom I’ll call the Jolly Drinker. We’ve chatted a few times before, and he’d mentioned he’s given up drinking a 12-pack a night for a pint of Crown Royal over three nights. He seemed to be your average heavy drinker who held it together… that is until last night.
He saw me walking and came up to me when I passed by his yard. He was on a drunken repetitive rant about his job. Even though he repeated himself several times, I still don’t know what the issue was. I think he quit, or maybe he was fired, but then I got the impression he’s still going to work on Monday.
The Life of Pye
Pye, Pye, Pye. *shaking my head*
Last night I gave her the regular evening bowl of kibbles. As usual, she hopped up to the RV dash and started eating. I went back to doing my usual: something that included sitting on the couch. A minute later there is a huge commotion from the RV dash and Pye is scrambling to get away from the area, leaping over furniture.
She stops near me, pressed up against the side of the bench, the hair on her back standing on end. I start talking to her like she’s a little kid, asking her what’s wrong, going over to pet her (yeah, yeah, we’ve already established I’m a crazy cat lady).
She is inconsolable. The hair on her back won’t go down. She keeps staring at the dash from far across the room. She started sniffing and swatting at random things around the rest of the RV as if she’d never seen them before (yes, much like when I was packing to move here – but these items are in the same place they’ve been for weeks now.) I inspected the area, saw nothing, but moved her food bowl to the living room floor.
Hours later she was still freaked out, hair standing on end. I got down on the floor, crawled around, and searched for this Mystery Monster. She followed behind me, peeking around my arms and legs as I lifted items and looked under.
Nothing. No. Thing.
She is still freaked out this morning. Hair on end, avoiding the dash, clinging to me.
I’ve began to wonder what would scare her like that. Not a bug, and likely not even a really big bug. Unless it was Bugzilla. A mouse? I sure as heck hope she’d go after a mouse in the house, but who knows with her. A snake? I could see her being this freaked out by a snake or maybe even a lizard.
I really hope I don’t have a snake in the house.