I’m not really used to little boys. My only child is a 23-year-old female and I didn’t grow up with brothers, so I am constantly fascinated with the little creatures in their native habitat. Our neighborhood is crawling with little shirtless, shoeless hooligans who roam the summer streets on their various modes of transportation. Most of the neighborhood kids are aware of the “Bunny Lady” and their parents are by and large OK with their progeny making visits to my animal farm. Even parents who have never met me, have been made aware that I am a harmless and eccentric old lady with no evil designs on their children, so I am privileged to have many visitors at my door at all hours of the day. Yesterday was a particularly eventful episode.
It was around noon and I was going about my full and fascinating life (cleaning litter boxes) when I heard a knock at my door. I opened it to find a group of young men politely asking to see my bunny. One of the faces was familiar; the other two were not. They came inside and I showed them Buster’s lair where they proceeded to pet him and tug on his floppy ears. Soon they spied Mulder and Miss Alley Sue playing in the living room so they proceeded to pet the kittens and take turns holding them. Missy even allowed them to scratch her scraggly 17-year-old noggin.
Notice how they all removed their shoes before coming in my house. Great training moms!
The boys stayed about 30 minutes and then they left, thanking me for the visit. As they were leaving, I showed them my old-fashioned twist doorbell. Most people don’t know what it is (they think it’s a bolt lock) so they never use it. I show it to kids because I figure they’ve never seen one and they usually think it’s pretty cool. This way, when I hear my doorbell I can be reasonably sure it’s a kid wanting to play with my pets. (I never show the doorbell to grown-ups).
I returned to my domestic duties (folding laundry, taking out the garbage and surfing the net for outdoor sofa cushions–I told you it was fascinating!), when about 30 minutes later I hear my doorbell ring. I opened my door to find a half-naked, tow-headed young scoundrel at my door. He was a missing brother from the previous trio. He had been schooled on the secret doorbell and wanted to see the Burlingame pets for himself. He stayed longer and explored my house more thoroughly than the earlier group and was as polite and sweet as he could be. I left him to his activities while I paid some bills and answered emails.
After he had his fill of furry friends, he took his leave and thanked me for letting him play with the critters. I continued with my domestic duties and was soon surprised to hear the front door open and a cheerful, “I’m back!” I was flattered that he felt so comfortable in my house that he let himself in; but I instructed him that it is generally understood that most people knock or ring the bell before entering another person’s home. 🙂 I escorted him out and he twisted the doorbell like a proper gentleman. I opened the door and he asked if he could play just a little more. After a few short minutes he left again, thanking me.
After his departure, I was sure it had stopped “raining men” but I was mistaken. Later that afternoon, one of the gentlemen from the first visit rang my bell to ask for my assistance with a serious matter. He had suffered a mortal wound on his leg and his mom was not home. I did the best I could, and after a squirt of neosporin and a small band-aid I felt sure that he would make a full recovery and go on to lead a normal life.
All in all, it had been a fun day for the boys, my animals and me. Little did I know that the fun would begin again this morning at 8:15. 🙂
I’m an early riser and I’m usually awake at 5:30 every day. I got into this habit when I had my chickens and I had to let their ladder down at sunrise. And although I do get up very early, I am not usually “camera-ready” until much later. This morning I was having my last bit of coffee with the Golden Girls, (Betty White is an American treasure people!) when I hear my doorbell. I look out the peep-hole to see two blonde street urchins in their summer uniforms (shorts only) standing on my porch. The smallest one is lamenting, “But I just want to see Buster!” while the elder brother is tugging him away from the door toward their scooters. It’s for the best that I didn’t open the door. The emotional scars from seeing me in the morning might have been too much for the lads. As I write this, I have showered, put on adequate attire, and am ready for another adventure on Ring Around Road. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring!