I may be getting older but there’s no sign I’m getting any smarter. Cases in point:
The new-to-us fifth wheel trailer is considerably larger than the Airstream. Large enough that it can’t get close enough to the septic tank for periodic pump-offs. Therefore, I went out and acquired a “blue boy” – one of those blue plastic tanks on wheels to transport sewage from an RV to a dump site. So, last night it became evident that it was time to deploy said “blue boy”.
First lesson learned – if I want to avoid crawling around on my hands and knees while being eaten alive by the jaws with wings we call black flies and mosquitoes, I’d better put the kitchen slide-out back in BEFORE attempting to attach to the discharge pipe.
Second, my brand new ‘blue boy” is wondrously airtight. This became evident when I opened the sewage valve, the hose filled and then a small amount of effluent entered the tank. Hardly the slug of wastewater I expected, however. Then, in the light of my flashlight, I observed the tank growing bigger and bigger. Alarmingly so. With visions of the sewage scene from that movie with Robin Williams and Kristin Chenoweth, I reached down with grave trepidation and unscrewed the little cap the level indicator sticks up out of, and WHOOSH! the sewage gods commenced to bestow their bounty upon the interior of the tank. Meanwhile, I was passed out from an overdose of methane and even SWMBO was getting a case of the vapors when the fumes rushed in the open window beside her chair where she was watching Masterchef... Oh, and the little cap with the indicator landed twenty feet away in the grass. Lesson learned – vent the “blue boy” before opening the dump valve on the trailer.
As if Murphy wasn’t yet satisfied with tormenting me, this morning I was in the middle of chores when I pulled a boneheaded mistake that almost cost my best friend his life. I speak of my dog, Iggy. Without thinking clearly, I brought him outside with me off-lead. A squirrel took it upon himself to sound the alarm. Like a shot from a cannon, the furry little phugger was off into the woods chasing the rodent and that was the last we saw of him for over eight hours. Thunderstorm, torrential rains, mosquitoes as big as eagles, eagles the size of pteradactyls, and dump trucks on the camp road, in addition to multiple neighbors in motorized vehicles.
I spent most of the day looking for my missing companion but no luck. Some kids on dirt bikes and four wheelers saw him, but they were in terrorist mode at the time, so the pooch lit out into the woods as the bikes bore down upon him breathing fire and brimstone.
So imagine my surprise when I returned from a McDonald’s run (searching is hungry work, plus I needed a Dunkin Donuts De-Caff Iced Coffee) to find the errant canine firmly ensconced in his crate in the living room, looking contrite and remorseful. I’d just trolled the subdivisions within two miles of here and accosted a woman at the head of our road walking her dogs in vain hope of obtaining a sighting of the fuzzbutt. So the lesson reinforced once again, the Schipperke Escape Artist stays on-lead at all times, regardless of how inconvenient it is to me.
I do hope your day wasn’t quite so educational.
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