One of my favorite things about spending my childhood in the 1980s was how DIFFERENT things were back then. We lived in a small town in far southeast Texas, just a stone's throw from Louisiana (via a lake). It was not a perfect town, by any means, but I do have many, ahem, interesting memories.
One of my memories is of Halloween; I distinctly remember going to a haunted house put on by a local church. I remember knowing, at the ripe old age of 8 or 9, that this haunted house was about "real things" that could scare you.
Basically, I think it was one of those haunted houses meant to scare kids from abortions. I remember there being a lot of fake body parts and hospital patients and screaming.
When you're 8, flying body parts are a very important part of the fear process.
Just recently, an owl has taken residence in my back yard. We have a huge mesquite tree, probably one of the biggest in the neighborhood. It's the kind of tree that reminds me a little too much of Poltergeist when we have storms and I tell the kids, yes, please for the love of all things good and holy go sleep in my bedroom away from that damn tree.
I like to walk outside and look at the owl. Typically, he looks back at me. Now, normally, I'm not too scared of owls but Netflix's "The Staircase" has been on my mind recently. (No, I have not yet watched it; I will.) Fun Fact: Michael Peterson and I worked at the same newspaper. His wife died a few months before I started and the entire newsroom was a bit obsessed with him.
I mention "The Staircase" because Peterson claimed an owl could have killed his wife. I know that's ridiculous but all of a sudden, when there's an owl in your Poltergeist tree, staring down at you...things go through your mind.
I like to name the animals that come and go through our yard; it only made sense to name the owl. After much thought, I narrowed it down to Mr. Rogers, Bob Seger and Neil Flymond. At one point, I considered Bob Ross, though I didn't feel it was a true contender.
I settled on Bob Seger and went about my merry way. I'd go outside, acknowledge his presence and hope he wouldn't come and gouge my eyes out a'la The Birds.
Yesterday, I stood at my back door, staring out at the 107 temperatures and questioning why I choose to live in a place that gets so hot. That's when I noticed it: A white fluff-ball, halfway across the yard.
I open the door and walk outside and realize that fluff is actually part of a bird. I look closer; yes, it's a leg of some sort. I then look around and notice another bird leg hanging from a bush.
I promptly text my husband with a 1,2,3 NOT IT to tell him about our very own haunted house of horrors.
The consensus is...Bob Seger did this. Bob Seger killed another bird and then left his bird feet (talons?) all over my backyard to rot.
Even better, we think he killed a hawk. I'm kind of sad about this because once I saw two hawks flying in the air, fighting over a giant snake (rattlesnake?). They were way high and I could only imagine that snake's final moments were filled with some terror (ahh hawk) and excitement (I'm FLYING!).
I understand, though, that this is all the circle of life and Bob Seger has to take care of himself. I get over it and go on with my merry way...until I look up the next day and find ANOTHER damn bird leg slung over a low hanging tree branch.
I sigh; that thing isn't going to come down because even the most low hanging branch is too high. Oh well, the rotting flesh will go nicely with the heat and the sound of our neighbor's neglected dogs barking nonstop throughout the day.
But then...later...the leg is on the ground. Bob Seger came back and knocked the leg off the tree.
Somewhere, at the back of my mind, a little voice tells me, "There's still one more leg for you to find." Mwa haha.
As much as I love Bob Seger, I kind of feel this wouldn't have happened if I had named him Bob Ross.
To quote a Bob Ross shirt my son has, "Ever make mistakes in life? Let's make them birds. Yeah, they're birds now."
Apparently...Bob Seger has made a lot of mistakes.
One of my memories is of Halloween; I distinctly remember going to a haunted house put on by a local church. I remember knowing, at the ripe old age of 8 or 9, that this haunted house was about "real things" that could scare you.
Basically, I think it was one of those haunted houses meant to scare kids from abortions. I remember there being a lot of fake body parts and hospital patients and screaming.
When you're 8, flying body parts are a very important part of the fear process.
Just recently, an owl has taken residence in my back yard. We have a huge mesquite tree, probably one of the biggest in the neighborhood. It's the kind of tree that reminds me a little too much of Poltergeist when we have storms and I tell the kids, yes, please for the love of all things good and holy go sleep in my bedroom away from that damn tree.
I like to walk outside and look at the owl. Typically, he looks back at me. Now, normally, I'm not too scared of owls but Netflix's "The Staircase" has been on my mind recently. (No, I have not yet watched it; I will.) Fun Fact: Michael Peterson and I worked at the same newspaper. His wife died a few months before I started and the entire newsroom was a bit obsessed with him.
I mention "The Staircase" because Peterson claimed an owl could have killed his wife. I know that's ridiculous but all of a sudden, when there's an owl in your Poltergeist tree, staring down at you...things go through your mind.
I like to name the animals that come and go through our yard; it only made sense to name the owl. After much thought, I narrowed it down to Mr. Rogers, Bob Seger and Neil Flymond. At one point, I considered Bob Ross, though I didn't feel it was a true contender.
I settled on Bob Seger and went about my merry way. I'd go outside, acknowledge his presence and hope he wouldn't come and gouge my eyes out a'la The Birds.
Yesterday, I stood at my back door, staring out at the 107 temperatures and questioning why I choose to live in a place that gets so hot. That's when I noticed it: A white fluff-ball, halfway across the yard.
I open the door and walk outside and realize that fluff is actually part of a bird. I look closer; yes, it's a leg of some sort. I then look around and notice another bird leg hanging from a bush.
I promptly text my husband with a 1,2,3 NOT IT to tell him about our very own haunted house of horrors.
The consensus is...Bob Seger did this. Bob Seger killed another bird and then left his bird feet (talons?) all over my backyard to rot.
Even better, we think he killed a hawk. I'm kind of sad about this because once I saw two hawks flying in the air, fighting over a giant snake (rattlesnake?). They were way high and I could only imagine that snake's final moments were filled with some terror (ahh hawk) and excitement (I'm FLYING!).
I understand, though, that this is all the circle of life and Bob Seger has to take care of himself. I get over it and go on with my merry way...until I look up the next day and find ANOTHER damn bird leg slung over a low hanging tree branch.
I sigh; that thing isn't going to come down because even the most low hanging branch is too high. Oh well, the rotting flesh will go nicely with the heat and the sound of our neighbor's neglected dogs barking nonstop throughout the day.
But then...later...the leg is on the ground. Bob Seger came back and knocked the leg off the tree.
Somewhere, at the back of my mind, a little voice tells me, "There's still one more leg for you to find." Mwa haha.
As much as I love Bob Seger, I kind of feel this wouldn't have happened if I had named him Bob Ross.
To quote a Bob Ross shirt my son has, "Ever make mistakes in life? Let's make them birds. Yeah, they're birds now."
Apparently...Bob Seger has made a lot of mistakes.
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