Perhaps you think I exaggerate the exquisiteness of my Chex Mix. I assure you, I do not. People clamor for it far and wide. Okay, wide people clamor that it doesn't go very far. But it's exquisite, doggone it! And people like it!
"How good IS your Chex Mix, Val?" you all say, playing along like card-carrying members of Hee Haw's Kornfield Kounty. Well. My Chex Mix is SO good that...
...a daddy longlegs can't resist a piece dropped on a dog-hair-encrusted step between the porch and garage. A daddy longlegs that is having issues with a couple of his legs. Still, Daddy L has dragged himself up two or down one step to partake of this previously seasonal treat, made special in September this year for the birthday of my favorite gambling aunt.
How a morsel got to the step I'll never know. There were three plastic Christmas tubs of this delicious garlicky treat left over. The Pony has some every day. It's his grain requirement, I suppose. Or like morning cereal, at night. I don't think he grabs a handful on his way out the kitchen door. I assume Hick was tossing back a fistful on his way to work, or out to visit his livestock.
What shocks me is the fact that the dogs have not snuffed it up. They're like three high-powered outdoor vacuum cleaners. True, they prefer to jump right over the side of the porch rather than take the steps. But one would think Juno would have encountered it on her many alleged trips to the garage to eat cat food all day. I suppose she was too excited by the thought of all-day cat food to notice it on the way down, and too full from a day of cat-food eating to notice it on the way up.
Maybe I can market this tasty treat at my proposed handbasket factory. I can see it now. A big bag emblazoned with the slogan: "Val's Chex Mix. So Good That a Daddy Longlegs Can't Resist a Piece Dropped on a Dog-Hair-Encrusted Step Between a Porch and a Garage."
Don't scoff. That "Smuckers" slogan was already taken.