Pssst, Bekkers!
If you need DNA, hair clippings won’t work. You need the root of the hair for that.
Brush his pelt or something…
~VOW
Yep.
"Mr. Darryl Bigfoot, do you mind if I brush you? I have on gloves and a mask.
“Maybe you’d like a few highlights, It’ll set off your red glowing eyes.”
Yep, that’s what I’m gonna do. For reals. 
---------------->
You know, I think I’ve mentioned Son-of-a-wrek is my conspiracy theory believer, sorta prepper child. He’s always been alittle weird… Well, it turns out he might really believe there’s Bigfoots (erm…Bigfeet). We were sitting on the deck enjoying the evening and got to discussing it. Big Wrek, pooh-pooh’d it and stomped in the house. The girls were sitting on the lawn watching the kids on the playgym.
Hamza was on the deck, with us. Son started telling him the tall tales of sightings.
I swear he sounded like a professor spouting facts and dates.
I watched Hamza’s face going from mildly interested to downright afraid. Son got up to get another beer and Hamza asked me: “Do you believe that load of bullshit?”
I was silent. It is my child saying these things.
Yeah, I’m gonna have to have a talk with Son-of-a-wrek about this. An unpleasant talk.
He’s insane. Might need meds. An intervention, if you will.
Ah, Maybe not. There are people who get paid and have reality shows who believe this stuff. Son is just not in the right place. Who sez he can’t be a producer/crypto-science advisor on my movie deal? Yeah, I’m going with that.
Then I looked down on the lawn and the girls are rolling around on the ground laughing.
Hmmm?
Call Discovery!
Discovery has spent kajillions and kajillions on Oak Island “treasure” hunting!
Interesting cast of characters! I’m sure all family members can gets jobs! Two of the jobs on Oak Island crack me up. The bulldozer/scooploader/backhoe/excavator operator always looks like he’s full of beer.
The guy who owns the metal detector is an expert about everything! Just ask him! He uncovers a small thigamajig, brushes the dirt off, and announces what it is, what it’s made from, when it was made, and the middle name of the guy who made it!
Then everyone in the group stands in a semi-circle as they pass the thigamajig around, and they all make up a story, starting with, “Suppose this is…”
Every. Single. Episode.
Call Discovery!
~VOW
----------Fish gotta get fried----------
Son-of-a-wrek is setting up to fry catfish, fries, hushpuppies. DIL made coleslaw. I made banana pudding.
He was just telling me I didn’t take enough fish out of the freezer. He likes to cook way too much. It’s just us. No extra people allowed.
I laughed cause he said its a good thing there is a bunch of us or quarantine would be boring.
Yeah, Son it’s a ‘party’ life I live. It was a goal I aspired to achieve.
I was thinking about the lil’wrekker. This is probably the last time in my life I’ll spend this much time with her and have her home. It’s been fun having her here. BF, notwithstanding.
He’s been fun too, I guess.
It’s gonna rip my heart out when she goes back to her University and resumes her life. Not fair. I already withstood her jumping out of the nest, once. Must endure it all again :smack:
But, I have her now.
And Son-of-a-wrek has his built-in party crowd.
b. party girl.
~VOW, I love that show.
It’s an interesting show, but it’s on the History Channel, which is a part of A&E, and not affiliated with the Discovery Channel.
Is the guy playing Darryl the same actor who played the Geico caveman?
Applause.
That would be great if they had subsequent Bigfoot commercial with his brothers Larry and Darryl.
I hope the fish frying doesn’t attract a Bigfoot.
What am I saying? I hope he comes.
Excuse me, gotta go get my go-pro.
The littlest Baby-wrek is 3yo.
We’re are eating our fish. She’s sitting by me on the Picnic table. Peeling the crust off her fish just eatin’ the white meat.
I asked her what was she gonna do with all that crust on her plate.
I try to tell her it’s the best part. She says “No no, Nana!”
She then says—“I’m saving it for the BigToe!”
Ok. Now we’re all rolling on the lawn laughing and she’s cryin’ cause we’re laughing at her.
--------beck, Betsy and Bigtoe--------
(and a travelin’ band of rat yapper doggies)
I’m needing to walk. Mr.Wrekker is on the tractor. No hunters out today.
My 30.06 rifle is not in the gun-safe. I grab my favorite Winchester. Load it. Leash up Betsy. I have bear mace and the Yorkie Grace is in my hoodie pocket. Off we go.
I let Betsy off leash and put Grace on the ground to potty.
Mid-daughter hollers at me. …She’s sending the Chihuahuas down. Oh, great.
Here they come dragging their leashes. They come right to my feet. Jumping around like rabbits.
So, we gather up. I have 3 leashes in one hand. Yorkie in my pocket. All my jangley bits rattling.
Crazy lady in the woods. All I need is wild, unruly hair and rubber boots and weird clothes on. Oh, yeah. I have all those things.
We’re a noisy bunch. Betsy is pulling so hard I unhook her and we follow her. She casts wide and makes big circles back to me. The Chihuahuas are walking good. Grace is asleep.
Betsy loops back to pond. She got something the ground. Oh, crap it’s a dead fish. That will require mouthwash and soap. Nasty! I kick it in a divet and kick dirt and leaves over it. Raccoons must’ve gotten the fish. I see lots of little ‘hand’ prints. We walk along the edge of the water. I see lots of slide marks.
And, Oh…whats this I see?
Oh, my. A large round hole. In fact several big round holes. Not crawdad homes. Not snakes. Not any mammal. To close to water.
Have I just found Bigfoots big toe print?
I reckon I did.
Score card:
Beck–1 sighting, 4 toe prints.
Mr.Wrekker —No sighting, 2 days of unfruitful hunting. Gave up and got on the tractor.
Son-of-a-wrek --as usual just here for the fun.
Yep! I win again. (:))
Nononono…
You found BIGTOE prints!
~VOW
I caught Son-of-a-wrek before he left on the 4-wheeler. I told him about the dead fish and the big toe prints.
He said he would go look.
Do Coons catch swimming fish? Or do they just scavenge dead ones they find?
This was a 10-12in catfish.
The Catfish in the pond are mostly out in the middle where it’s deep. Close in it’s mostly bream and crappie.
I know a Raccoon will swim. I’ve seen it. Totin’ a fish? :dubious:
Folks, I think we have a mystery here.
I think you’re right. Which would make Darryl his own ancestor, in a wibbly wobbly sort of way.
Son-of-a-wrek came in the house wanting to know what’s to eat. I give him an apple.
Supper is at 5:45.
He sits at the island and peels his Apple with his pocket knife. I’m looking at that knife. It’s filthy. How can he use that on food he’s gonna eat:smack: Boy didnt learn a thing growing up with a Ma who’s a germaphobe.
NM.
I ask him if he saw the coon tracks and the holes? “Yes, Ma, I did”, he sez.
“Well?” He keeps peeling being very precise.
I said, again, "Well?
This young man. I raised. I petted. I sweated with him over life decisions as he grew up. Helped him overcome 2 tours to the middle-east, says “I think they are miniature sinkholes.”
Wut??!?
He sez, “Listen to me, Ma, just listen.”
Okay (he must be on crack)
He further states; “There’s an extraterrestrial component to the Bigfoot legend. They have powers we are yet to understand.”
Or believe!
I’m waiting on him to ask to contact an ESP expert.
My son needs help.
Hell, I need help.
-----—simple Sunday supper situation—----
We sit down to venison (I have my reasons it’s deer meat tonight *) Potatos and peas.
I ask Mr.Wrekker what was he doing on the tractor all evening. He sez, “Work.”
Alrighty then.
A small little Grand-wrek says he saw Pop-pop JUST riding. Pop-pop gives him a look.
I ask Son-of-a-wrek to elaborate on what he saw down at the pond. Son sez, “What are you talking about, Ma?” That stinker just sold me out. Mr.Wrekker wants to know what I meant. I told him I saw a dead fish and Coon tracks.
A small little Grand-wrek(same one) spouts, “Nana saw Bigfoot tracks!” Wait. What? How did he know? Everyone is looking at me.
I said, “I don’t know what he’s talking about.” If you can’t sell out a grandkid, what are they for?
Man oh, man my family have maybe spent too many days quarantined, together.
We are becoming dysfunctional.
Well, we already were a bit crazy. It’s just bubbling up to the surface, more.
b. I don’t even know these people.
(*Deer meat because Mr.Wrekker loves it and I thought to interrogate him, alas. Didn’t happen.)
Tell Son-of-Wrek that even if there were a UFO component to Bigfoot, there is no alien influence at this time.
Quarantine, remember? Aliens don’t want to freakin’ COVID!
He needs to get his conspiracies straight!
~VOW
**~VOW **, I had Son-of-a-wrek alone for awhile this morning.
So naturally I chewed him out.
He said he couldn’t be bothered to explain his beliefs.
The truth is out there!
May the 4th be with you!
--------a pleasant stroll--------
Hooked up the pack of dogs. Apparently I’m the sole pack leader of this riff raff.
As usual: down the hill, to the pond. Up the levee to the backside. Here’s where I change things up:
We have a boneyard. (Uncomfortably close to the real cemetery)
The yard has old cars pieces of stuff Mr.Wrekker has parted out. Long ago I made him relocate all these junk heaps so as to appear we lived in a normal place and NOT a junkyard.
Me and the pack walk the short distance from the pond to the trail to the boneyard.
It’s eerie here. The kids had a fort out here. I can still hear them having fake wars and playing games. Me and the dogs stop for a few minutes. It’s a long slope upwards. I have a bottle of water. I drank some and poured some in my hand for the dogs.
Sitting there enjoying the quiet. Panting dogs. I put Yorkie Grace on the ground and tell her to potty. I’m watching her. She pees.
I heard a loud ‘Thump’…all 4 dogs ran to me. Betsy woofs. The Chihuahuas start, what can only be described as screeching. Yorkie pee’d on herself.
I gather us up and we book it outta there. Never saw nuthin’
I think I’ve spooked myself. Shadows and noises are haunting me.
Never know when ‘Big toed spiritual Aliens’ may come get me.
:eek:
b. All this running uphill is building up my legs. That’s a good thang!
Am I really Alone, here
This mornin’ me and Betsy are alone on the walk. She, being the obese Beagle, needs to walk as much as I need to walk.
Betsy prefers the woodland trails. The driveway just doesn’t do it for her. So we set off to the trails. We pass the pig burial grounds. Lots of smells for a Beagle. Thank god I’m up here: 6ft away from the ground.
I stop by a old fence that usually has fox-grapes climbing on it. The vines look good. No sign of fruit yet. Betsy’s pulling me along she wants to move on.
I unleash her and send her on her way. She yodels a few times and casts to my left. I can tell she has a scent. Her head never comes up. If brick wall appeared she run right into it.
I’m looking at the ground for unusual tracks. I don’t wanna run into pigs or bears.
The big pond is on my right and Betsy is further away. I whistle and she yodels back. She’s ok.
I keep walking. She’ll circle back to me.
I get the feeling I’m not alone. I keep looking behind me. One of the kids or Mr.Wrekker might come up behind me. What??! They wouldn’t be coming up behind me. I’m fooling myself.
Betsy comes back to me. I tell her “hunt!” that usually sends her off. She won’t go this time. I hook her leash up and we continue on. We get down to the pond and she gets a drink and muddy paws.
I still feel like I’m being followed.
I make a crazy decision and turn around and retrace my steps. I have to pull the leash to make Betsy come on. She doesn’t want to go this way. I unhook her again. She takes off running, head up. She doesn’t stop til she gets to the barn. She sits waiting on me to get there.
She couldn’t get in the house fast enough.
We have apparitions following us. The Beagle nose knows all. We’re doomed, I tell you!
b. thwarting evil, chasing ghosts and living to tell it.
(BigToe, I have my eye on you, Betsy smells you)
Always trust a beagle’s nose. Were you packing heat? .30-06, I hope. While I trust your aim with your Winchester, it’s not enough against BigToe. Or aliens.