In Case You Have Some Extra Sympathy Sitting Around

For those of you who may have excess sympathy (I never do), Hick's latest pity party needs a tiny violinist. Oh, Hick would never ask for it himself. He soldiers on, troubles coursing off his cotton-duck, Carhartt-clad back as if they were water. It is I, the main thorn in his side, who can sense his vulnerability.

On Sunday, Hick was planning a play date with our across-the-road neighbor. Not so much a play date, like shooting guns or digging through his storage unit treasures. A play date, to watch the Chiefs in the playoffs. Hick said the human daddy of the Killer Poodle and Crazy Rottweiler had asked him to come over and join him and some other guys to watch the Chiefs. Maybe it was reciprocation for the free hay that Hick gave him for his horses the week before. Or maybe he just saw Hick at the right time for an invitation.

Anyhoo...I was meaning to text Hick on Sunday morning, while he was at his Storage Unit Store, to see if he needed to pick up something to take to the festivities. He'd only told me about it the night before. Not enough time to whip up a 2.5 hour batch of Chex Mix. Or maybe he wanted to get some beer, since his home brew had another week to ferment. Hick could even have taken some bottles of the homemade wine that had been gifted to him. It would be a nice gesture.

Anyhoo...as I mentioned before, Hick came home early from his Storage Unit Store, due to lack of customers and sore joints and the 26-degree temperature. He said that when it was time to go, he planned to get in his truck and drive out of our compound, then return.

"I'll leave in the truck, so the dogs don't follow me. Then when I come back, I'll just go down their driveway. I don't want the dogs to follow me on the Gator. They don't get along with their dogs."

Well. That's certainly an understatement. Though since their dogs massacred all our chickens, one or two at a time, we haven't seen their dogs the killers over here for a while. The presence of intimidating Copper Jack, the side-neighbor's dog, might also put the kibosh on such invasion.

So, Hick had his timeline all planned out, and his strategy. He was looking forward to it, as he's a gregarious guy, and a lukewarm fan of the NFL. It's not NASCAR, by cracky!

Within a half hour, Hick relayed information he'd just received by text.

"I won't be going to watch football. They're headed to the city to pick up a grandkid. Oh, well. I can watch it here."

Which he did, not wanting any special snacks, and snoozing intermittently in the La-Z-Boy. Hick got a text later in the afternoon, saying the neighbors were back, and he was still invited, although they didn't have time for the mister to make his chili. Hick was fine with finishing the game at home. No ill will. Stuff happens.

In retrospect, Hick lost an opportunity to unload that football crock pot as a gift...