Road Kill Casserole

Let us continue on with the illustrations about the crazy world I call home, shall we?  Today, I was chatting with a few other ladies about our manly-man-hunter-husbands.

Here's the sitch:

1)  All of them have tasted, and enjoy venison/elk/moose, etc.

2)  Many have also helped grind their husbands' kill.  And none of them understood why I was scarred for life.

3)  And, lastly but not leastly, one gal, who enjoys hunting as much as her husband, just pops her screens out her window and shoots her meat right from her house.

Because this is where I live, where I dwell.  These are my people.  We are one and the same.  Kinda.

My dad was not a hunter man, so this whole hunting world is just so strange to me.  David saw this little newspaper clip and told me it reminded him of yours truly:



(source)

And while we are on this lovely topic, let us reward the COW.



The COW stands for the Comment of the Week and in no way refers to anything my husband may or may not have shot.

Leanna wrote:

Now, my Daddy was also known to pick up ROAD KILL and feed it to his family (that would be me). Oh yes, oh yes he did. Fresh road kill, mind you. We would drive to church down this one particular back country road and I kid you not, he picked up three or four huge dear that had “just been” hit by vehiculars. Most times, the car that hit it was still there and he started carrying a TARP around in the back seat because there was no way no how that he was letting that critter go to waste.

I’m happy to say I’m still alive and we never contracted Road Kill’itis. I’m also happy to say I married a man who refuses to eat venison, or anything other than beef, pork and chicken because quite frankly, I was foundered on venison. Absolutely foundered.

The end, brave woman, the end.

Remind me to hide all tarps from my husband. Let us move on.

The girls and I are boarding a plane for Tennessee on the morrow.  In order to accomplish this, we will have to leave the house at 4am.  This means my boys are going to be hellions.  Maybe I should fill their sippy cups with coffee to help perk them up?  It always works for me.

We are off to see my dear friend Bimlissa, or as she is known everyone else, Melissa.  Bimlissa has a daughter my girls' age, and they have missed their friend so.  The three of us are very excited about our trip.  I believe we will be driving to the American Girl store in Atlanta during the trip.

This may cause my girls to have heart attacks.  Their dolls are all dressed and ready to go.  They are not to be packed in the suitcases, but must be in the carry on bag.  Because everyone knows that dolls love plane rides.  I am just hoping the doll season lasts awhile longer.  I am not ready for my girls to grow up.

Anyways, I might be a bit quiet for awhile.  But would you all mind praying for my dad?  He is having some scary health problems and the doctors cannot figure out what is wrong with him.

Thank you all and have a lovely week!