The Pink Flamingo is Down

My sister and brother-in-law, Terry, live next door to some folks who are raising chickens for their eggs.  A few weeks ago, the chickens escaped their own yard and took refuge inside Terry’s garage.  Terry had to herd the half-dozen chickens back into their yard.

No small feat, that.

Not long after, Terry felt a slight bump as he started backing his truck out of the garage.  “I bet I just hit one of those chickens,” he thought.  “To hell with those chickens!”  Terry gave his truck more gas and felt a bigger bump.  “That’s one tough chicken,” he muttered.

When he climbed out of truck to investigate.  He found his truck backed against the four wheeler he has parked there for the last ten of so years.

Terry is one of those guys who—as we like to say here in Montana—never says “whoa” in a mud hole.   He always goes big.

Another example is that time he caught his back yard and his neighbor’s wooden fence on fire.  A coworker had suggested that he might use a little gasoline and fire to rid his back yard of ants. 

Terry used a lot of gas spread over a wide area.

To hell with those ants.

Yesterday, Terry decided to give his grass one final trim before our weather turns.  He got through the grass and then some.

You’d be surprised at how much damage a weed-whacker can do to a yard flamingo when the two tangle.

Posted is a photograph of the pink flamingo as I found it when I arrived for a visit with my sister and brother-in-law yesterday evening.

--Mitchell Hegman