7 Degrees of Separation, more or less

Small world or what?

So you wondered what ever happened with our rodent problem.(?)  Well, to be honest, they simply went away. We either got lucky or my smoking bothers even them.

The rodent ‘dude’, (yes, it did end up being a ‘dude)’ did make for some interesting conversation…complete with the stories of his travels across the country and eating habits “ Of Mice and Men”, the guy was pretty interesting.  

He did discover that part of the ductwork under our house had come apart and he was good enough to duct tape the entire thing back together…a well-spent $20 tip, like I’m going under our house…please.

So the following week I head out to the local culture spot in our county…the infamous Silver Reef Casino / Smoke Shop / Shell Station / Liquor Store and the place where all the well-known musical talents of the 60’s and 70’s seem to end up.

I‘m thinking that this is one long ride from the Interstate to the Casino.  You meander past the Volvo Rental Yard, the Dump, the Sawdust-n-Beauty Bark place and on past the railroad tracks to where the signs WARN of Flooding.  As you pull up to the Shell Station and head onto the Reservation, does the thought occur to you that maybe, just maybe, these are not your glory days and that drug overdose in the mid 80’s might have been a clue?

I pull in and park beside a white pickup complete with duck decoys, a shotgun in the window and a dog in a crate.  The driver, completely dressed in camouflage is talking with another guy who ‘lights up’ when he sees me.  We exchange nods and I make my way into the Smoke part of the Silver Reef to purchase some of those rodent deterring ‘smokes.’  As I head back to my car the hunter and the other dude are still chatting, my friend smiles and says, “See you next week.”  

I smile and get back in my car all the while wondering where I will see my new friend next week?  Then it dawns on me, this is the rodent dude, the fixer of ductwork, how soon we forget.

As I back out I glance at the back of the hunter’s pickup and read the following bumper sticker, “If it flies, it dies”.

Yikes, how general of a statement can this be?  Should the FAA be notified, Homeland Security, a quiet heads up to Charlton Heston?

As I ponder the closeness of it all, I glance up at yet another bumper sticker on a new Hummer.  It merely states the obvious “Jesus Loves You, but I’m His favorite.”