Conversations of Dairy and Derriere

 

Twas the Eve of the Solstice.

When inside the house....

"You almost had to drive me to the hospital."

Said by a man in outdoor boots and clothes, steaming and huffing at the edge of the dining room door. At least he was kind enough to keep his boots off the rug.

"What!" Three simultaneous gasps from the audience in the living room.

"I fell off the woodpile."

"What the heck were you doing on the woodpile?"

"Putting a chain on a log."

Mind you it's dark out. There are plenty of daylight hours, but he is a real night owl.

"Are you okay? Did you break anything?"

"Well, my butt is sore. Maybe my hip."

Not even funny. He in fact did not sustain any serious injuries and seems okay today.

I figure its the gallons, and gallons, and gallons of milk he drank over the years, and the large amount he still does.

And the toughness. He is farmer tough, ( old fart foolish), and farmer brave.

But (and butt)...

We are getting too old for this stuff.