Relative Something

This is why we can’t have nice things. I was mucking manure from the sloppy mud just beyond the roof line of the overhang when Cyndie stepped out of the barn to ask if I had taken the wooden spoon.

My answer was, “What?” because every exchange between us now always starts with the second person needing questions repeated.

Why would I take the wooden spoon? We keep a cup and spoon by the water spigot in the barn for wetting down the incredibly dusty, cracked grains we put out in buckets for the horses. It was missing.

We both separately searched high and low inside the barn to no avail. What critter would abscond with a long-handled wooden spoon? There was probably a small amount of grain residue stuck to the shallow bowl, but that seems like a paltry treasure worth hauling away.

We have several burrowing pests in addition to the cats and possibly raccoons that make themselves at home in and around the barn. I don’t know if the spoon was moved outside of the barn or if it might have been stashed inside somewhere. There are plenty of nooks and crannies where it could end up out of sight.

I’d rather not start moving every item stored within to look beneath it, but I have a compelling urge not to let the thief win. I hate getting outsmarted by pestering critters.

Cyndie has already selected a replacement spoon from the kitchen. I suggested she attach a tether with an awkwardly large bauble on it, as is done for gas station bathroom keys.

Actually, I’d like to put an alligator clip and wire so we can connect it to the hot wire of our electric fence after each use. That’d send a message. I know better than to do that, though. The most likely one to receive that message would end up being my lovely wife.

Critters – 1 … Humans – 0.

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