Replacing a toilet...with a little help from Wynonna

 A week ago Friday, the handle on the guest bathroom toilet broke off. 

Because guests were scheduled to come over the next day for dinner. 

Then a freak spring snowstorm happened and the dinner was cancelled,

which turned out to be a good thing because nothing says entertaining

 like having to explain a broken toilet.

So I had a week to contemplate: 

a) the difficulty of finding replacement parts for a 13-year-old toilet, or

b) replacing the whole damned thing.

 Since this toilet had a few pre-existing conditions 

(some of the innards were held together with baling wire

and hard-water deposits were corroding everything else),

I opted for a total toilet replacement. 

I purchased a new one online, and all 100-plus pounds of it

were waiting for me when I went to Home Depot to pick it up.

A man in an orange apron and I wrestled it into the back seat of the truck,

thinking that might improve its chances of surviving a trip down the dirt road.

He refused my invitation to come back to the ranch and help me unload it,

so I got to fret all the way home about how I would get it out of the truck

and into the house in one piece.

Then Wynonna smiled down upon me and said,

"You got 160 pounds of me in and out of that truck. Same principle."

 Such a smart pig she was. 

She also could probably figure out a better method than duct tape 

to fix the garage door weather-stripping, but that's a blog post for another time.

 Anyway, the hard part was over. 

Now I just had to harness all that bold power and install it.

 My personal YouTube plumber taught me a few tricks,

and it wasn't too bad, though Smooch might argue that point.

 Smooch: You swear too much.

 Three hours later, the old toilet was out in the yard, 

and I had a pretty handle attached to a new toilet. 

 Then the fun began.

I smashed that old fixture to smithereens because I didn't want
to look at an old toilet in the back yard until my next trip to the dump.

Now that's what I call bold power. 

p.s. It turns out that my personal plumber is part of See Jane Drill.

How did I not know about this site until now?!

Saturday encore ~ Wynonna takes a shower

I dug into the archives from June 2013 for this encore...

makes today's forecast high of 96 seem cool.

***

It's been kind of warm here lately. I haven't decided if I worry more about my animals in the extreme heat or the extreme cold. 

All I know is that when it hit 103 yesterday, I wanted to bring everybody into the air-conditioned house.

When it gets this hot, Wynonna tips over her water bowl hourly to make herself a mud puddle,

then she plops down in it to cool off.

Gone are the days when she would take a dip in her little swimming tub. With her advancing age, 

she is well aware of the fact that once she gets in, she may not be able to climb back out. 

Besides, the chickens drink out of it now and she doesn't want their cooties. 

Even a roll in the mud couldn't help her yesterday, and I couldn't bear to see her suffering. 

I had to provide her some relief from the heat.

In years past I've tried to play misty with her, but she wouldn't have it. 

She would scream and carry on as only a pig can whenever I turned the hose on her.

Apparently 103 degrees is the tipping point at which she will stop screaming to relax and enjoy it.

Wynonna: Stop laughing. I just washed my hair and can't do a thing with it.

Saturday encore ~ Angry landlord evicts family of five

We've been reminiscing about Hank the past couple of Saturdays,

so I thought it only appropriate to bring back the porcine princess for an encore.

This post is from May 2013.

The moment I saw Wynonna sleeping next to instead of inside her pig palace,
I knew my worst fears had come true.

The freeloading packrats who had built a nest behind the palace in early April
had tunneled under and now had the run of the place. Not acceptable.

Wynonna helped me move the palace away from the back wall
so that we could serve the eviction notice.

The disgusting tenants had trashed the place. Look closely
and you'll see one of them hiding his head in shame.

Mama Packrat: You can't make us leave! We have no place else to go! Think of the children!

Me: Spare me the sob story, sister. You've got one minute to collect your brood 
and high tail it out of here. The kids are big enough 
to be on their own anyway. Be gone!

Wynonna: Noisy, good-for-nothin' lowlifes...
you won't be getting back your security deposit, so don't even ask. 

Papa Packrat didn't think twice about abandoning his kids. 

He climbed the nearest wall without so much as a goodbye and good luck.

Packrat Child #1: Wait for me!

The freeloading family of five could easily have run out of the barn and into the open range, but no.

They ran into the chickens' pen instead. Forgive me for not feeling sorry for them.

Minnie: Where'd he go? Little bugger is fast!

While the chickens and packrats played the Darwin game next door, I removed all traces of the nest 

and relocated the pig palace, exposing the back wall to daylight to discourage any new tenants. 

The princess returned to her room to sleep resume her royal duties.

Saturday encore ~ Cowgirl wisdom from Wynonna

The porcine princess left us a year ago Wednesday. 

Memories of her still roll down my cheeks now and then, 

but a great big smile catches them before they hit the ground. 

Lordy, how she made me laugh, and you, too, I suspect. 

***

 

Saturday encore ~ One last laugh

Thank you all for your outpouring of love for Wynonna. 

Instead of being sad, let us send her out laughing. 

This video from 2009 should do it. 

***
Grab your leotards and leg warmers...Wynonna's aerobics class is about to start.

Remembering the Porcine Princess

Wynonna took ill on Monday. The dear girl had some sort of episode wherein she stopped breathing

for about a minute; she then lost control of her back legs and went rapidly downhill over the next 48 hours. 

It was clear to me it was time to let her go, and the wonderful folks at the vet clinic saw to that Wednesday afternoon. 

I will pick up her ashes and return them to the ranch tomorrow. Thank you, Ethel, for that fine idea.

The prospect of having to dig a large enough grave was daunting.

Wynonna lived to be 18 years and 4 months – I had her all that time minus her first 8 weeks.

Look very, very closely and you will see her little pink tongue sticking out.

She was the family trendsetter.

Back in 1996 when she and the internet were young, I believed what I read online and 

spoonfed her beer in order to get her to relax so I could trim her hooves. She forgave me.

I've often been asked why I had a pet pig. 

What's not to love about this smiling face? She was a constant source of joy and amusement.

She loved her life in the barnyard, even when the chickens would give her a hard time.

She was a shameless flirt...

...and loved posing for the camera.

She pursued comfort at all times, whether it was in the water tub on a hot summer day...

...or relaxing on the beach with a frosty beverage.

Above all, Wynonna knew how to relax.

She had a wicked stinkeye.

There's that smile again.

She had her own pig palace in the barn...

...and often dressed for breakfast.

She shared her wisdom with anyone who would listen.

Such a funny, funny girl.

Rest in peace, my sweet Wynonna.

Swallowed

Wynonna's busy life consists of three activities: eating, sleeping, and posing for pictures. 

She's multi-tasking here...

 ...and snoring so loudly that she must not hear the buzzing of all the bees that are pollinating the bushes behind her.

At least that's what I think they're doing. I took a few pictures then backed off. I'm not fond of bees.

 

On my way back into the house, I saw a bull snake climbing the wall toward a swallow's nest, 

but I wasn't too worried because I knew the babies had flown off awhile back.

Just as I was thinking about how cool it was that snakes can bend their bodies into right angles,

it dawned on me that the nest was probably full of eggs and that's why he was climbing the wall.

 And by then it was too late to grab something with which to knock him down.

I suppose I could have grabbed him by the tail, but that would have been gross.

He stayed up there for a long time, digesting his meal probably, and I got bored waiting for him to slither down.

He did look me in the eye before I left but made no apologies for his behavior.