A city girl learning to live off grid on a mountain in Montana with a country boy makes for an endless supply of funny stories, even if they weren't funny at the time. Lots of laughs and tears and love along the way. Enjoy! ๐Ÿ˜Š

Sunday, August 21, 2022

Puppy Doody

 Yesterday was errand day for me so Butch had Puppy Duty (doody ๐Ÿ˜†) all day. I wasn't feeling exactly confident about his puppy watching skills but the errands must needs be run and I couldn't take the little pooper with me. 

So, after a list of dire warnings and vehement instructions, which were delivered via pointing finger, complete with colorful and descriptive possible disaster scenarios, including, but not limited to, said ankle biter getting caught under the woodpile (again) and the horrific and painful death that would ensue, I left the house knowing that Butch didn't hear a single word I said. Spouting a half-verbalized parting shot as I walked out the door -- "If ANYTHING happens to that little rug rat ..." , I received in return a wave of the hand, an eye roll worthy of any 15 year old, and a "Just go already. Geez. We've got this." 

I drove away with many misgivings and concerns but I had no choice but to go and leave the little scamp to his fate.

*Hours and hours and hours later* 

I drove up to the house where four big dogs ran out to greet me as usual.

 No white puppy. 

Butch emerged from the house, surreptitiously looking around, almost as if he's lost something. 

Still no white puppy. Hmmm... Alarm bells going off.

I park the car, fend off four big dogs greeting me home and... oh look, here comes Cody the white puppy (who looks just like a tasty little white rabbit to any passing predator), out of the woods and off the hill behind the house. By himself. Looking deliriously happy and covered in mud, and a mouth full of what looks curiously like fresh bear poo.

Cody isn't yet three months old. Did I mention that? 

There are thousands of acres of state land back there. Did I fail to mention that also?

Here came Butch, smiling weakly, sees the puppy, a flash of pure relief crosses his face, which he then tries to hide looking nonchalant as if he knew where the pupper was all the time.

Uh huh.

"Heh. Heh. He disappears fast doesn't he? Heh, heh."

"I TOLD you that before I left. He's an escape artist extraordinaire."

Butch grinning brightly, "He always comes back though!"

Wow. "Always? So this happened more than once?"

Butch laughs (nervously?) and says, "All day! But he always came back! (phew)"


I think Butch's puppy sitting days are numbered.  Sheeesh. ๐Ÿคจ

Sunday, August 7, 2022

Be Still My Beating Heart

 Butch walked in the door from work the other day and instead of saying, "Hey baby, how was your day?" Or something of that ilk, he spouted, "What the heck is an 'oily stool'?" (Pronounced "O-lee stewl")


I smiled, closed my eyes and put my hand on my heart, "You say the SWEETEST things. You're sweeping me off my feet. Be still my beating heart. I may faint from..."

He rudely interrupted my beautiful soliloquy, "Okay, okay, okay. But what does it meeeeean?" 

"Gross. I don't know... Why are you asking me that?"

"Because I hear it everyday on a drug commercial on my way home from work and I decided I needed to know what that means. What is it?"

"And you thought your wife would know this, how?"

"You're smart. You know about all those bodily function things." ("Bawdilee funk-shun thangs")

"You flatterer you." 

"Sigh! Do you know or not?"

"Well, not really. I mean it's, well... it's like when. .. you see there's a... your poo gets... okay, I don't know."

Butch rolls his eyes and says, "Look it up on Google." ("Gewgul")

I barked out a laugh, "OMG. Do you know what will come up if I Google 'Oily stool'? The pictures I'll get? No thanks. You'll just have to bear not knowing. Sorry. Call your mother. I've heard you two gleefully discussing worms, boils and cankers. Maybe she'll know and y'all can have another delightful discussion while I don't listen."

Butch hmphed and said, "Well great, thanks for the no help. So, then answer this, what is a 'foul discharge'?" 


"Butch, stop it my love! I can't take any more sweet talk!  I'm overcome with emotion. I think I'm gonna faint. Take me in your arms!!" I head towards him with my arms open and my lips puckered, "Muah, muah, muah!"

Butch scurries away grumbling, "Sunny beaches, ask a simple question..."

Ha ha I knew that would work.  ;)

Saturday, August 6, 2022

Fleeing the Scene

 Detective: "So, Officer, what happened here?"

Officer: "Well, as far as I can figure, after talking to the witnesses and the wife of the Perp, this was a case of a birthday surprise gone wrong."

Detective: "Ah. One of those again. Tell me what happened so we can wrap this up and let these people get outta here."

Officer: "The wife of the Perp, a Butch Nelson, wanted to surprise her husband for his birthday at work. She called a Texas friend of theirs, who was visiting Missoula, to help her out, thinking, in her words, "He'd get a cake and some sparklers, for crying out loud." But the Texas friend had different plans and being a guy with, and I quote here, "No brains in his head", ordered up one a those girls who jump outta cakes. 

Detective: "Uh oh."

Officer: " Yeah. So, all the guys at the Perp's workplace were called outside and standing around ogling this scantily clad girl when they called the Perp, Butch, out to see his birthday "surprise". When the Perp came out and saw the guys standing there grinning like possums and this pretty girl wearing cowboy boots and big blonde hair smiling brightly at him, he took one look at the spectacle, froze, then threw his coffee mug at the lot of them, ran to his truck and fled the scene. I'm charging him with hit and run with a Yeti, possible endangerment with a caffeinated deadly weapon, and fleeing the scene. His wife is sorely peeved at the Texas friend and said, "Sheesh!" a lot, although she was also laughing hysterically. She may be nuts. So, that's it. The witnesses said they enjoyed themselves immensely and no harm was done. We've put out an APB on the Perp but he's nowhere to be found."

Detective: "Well, good work Officer. I think we're done here. Let these people go back to work. So, uh, where's the girl?"

Officer: "Oh, she had another birthday party to attend."

Detective: "Oh darn. I mean, uh, yep, good police work there Officer. Let me know if you find the Perp."

Officer: "I think he's headed for the hills."

(Sidenote from the peeved wife - Oh how I wish I'd been there to see this!! ๐Ÿคฃ๐Ÿคฃ๐Ÿคฃ)

Happy Birthday Perp! I mean, Butch!  ๐Ÿฅณ๐Ÿฅณ๐Ÿฅณ๐Ÿฅณ

Thursday, August 4, 2022

My New Book is Out!! ๐Ÿ˜

 I can't believe it! Finally published! Out on Amazon, in Kindle and paperback! Whoop!!!  ๐Ÿคฉ

"Caller's Spring - The Sweet Life" 

Me or Thee?

Soo.... those of you who know me and have been reading my stories know that at times I can be, oh how do I put this? Immature? Inappropriate? Jeuvenile? Maybe not always politically correct? And I'm about to do it again, so hold on to your hats. 

Before I get rolling here, please know that I am NOT making fun of people with split or multiple personalities. I'm not. I would never. SPD (Split Personality Disorder - an acronym I just made up) is a very serious and difficult mental illness which many people suffer from and I have total and complete compassion for them, especially since I seem to have it myself. 

I mean, I could have it. I don't know where the line is drawn between having real SPD and simply having a constant battle inside oneself between the Extrovert and the Introvert. I think that line must be pretty darn fine. It is for me anyway. 

May I give you a few examples and you, dear reader, can decide for yourself whether this War of the Personalities is indeed normal for everyone or whether I need to be making reservations for the nearest loony bin (not making fun of loony bins). Oh, that's not an appropriate term either? Well, my shy self says "I apologize," and my outgoing self says, "Bite me." See? She's so obnoxious! 

Anyhoooo... a few examples... 

A lady in Walmart gave me a nice compliment the other day. 

Since my Introvert self is a total compliment-deflector, my Extrovert self, who LOVES compliments, immediately took over and I suddenly morphed into my classic Mae West impression (or I thought I did anyway). 

I struck a pose, hands on hips, looking coy and sexy (NOT), preparing to say her iconic, "Come on up and see me some time," but what actually came out was, "Thank you. Thank you very much," which for some reason ended up just sounding like a really bad Elvis impression. Ugh, where did that come from? 

This complimentary person didn't really know what to do with my schizophrenic impression (also not making fun of schizophrenics). She suddenly looked fairly alarmed, realizing that she had mistakenly talked to an escaped lunatic and asked me if I was all right. Then she scurried away, looking back over her shoulder to make sure that I wasn't following her. And so there I was, standing all alone, in all my glory, in the cereal isle, still striking my Mae West pose... while my Introvert self is rolling her eyes and smacking her head asking, "Wow. Nicely done. You made a comPLETE spectacle of yourself. Surely your proudest moment." To which Extrovert answered, "Oh hush up." 

Another time, I walked into a local bookstore to see if they would sell my book there. My Introvert self was DYING of embarrassment with this hopeful, watery grin on her beet red face while asking the manager if he wanted our (our?) book. When he readily agreed to buy a few copies for six dollars each, my ecstatic Extrovert self took over immediately, laughed maniacally and practically yelled, "HA HA HA! THAT'S GREAT! I DON'T CARE IF YOU PAID ME *NOTHING*  FOR EACH BOOK! I'M JUST GLAD IT'S OUT THERE! HAW HAW HAW!"  

Seriously? My Introvert self began slapping the crap out of my Extrovert self, yelling, "Shut UP! Shut up!! He's offering to give you MONEY for your book. Take it and be QUIET!!" Extrovert self says, "Oh yeah. Heh heh heh. Ahem." 

And yet another time, the opportunity arose for me to sell my book at a local craft fair. Extrovert self said, "Yessss!" Introvert self said, "No way. You can't make me. I won't do it." She won that round. 

It's a CONSTANT battle I tell you. Two different personalities living in the same body, always fighting for control. It's like having a quiet, mousey, book-loving librarian and an obnoxious, comedic clown living in the same body. They actually have fist fights while I just stand there and wait to see who wins (the librarian has quite a nice roundhouse smack). I never know who's gonna be in charge in any given situation. And the clown is super hard to control. And getting worse as she ages and cares less about what people think. 

She is now grounded until further notice. 

So, what say ye? Split Personality Disorder or just normal(ish) human behavior?  I have to figure this out because the librarian me is getting really tired of the clown me. I'm kind of afraid she's gonna blow this joint and all I'll have left is the obnoxious clown (not disparaging clowns in any way either).  We NEED the librarian. She's the calm, stable, wise one. But she's also sorta boring though. So, hmmm... 

Can't we just rub noses and make up and agree to shared time here? 

Clown: "Yes!!" 

Librarian: "Well, I don't know. She's SO embarrassing.  She needs to tone it down a LOT. And then we'll see." 

Clown: "Bite me!" 

Sigh... here we go again... 


Sunday, July 31, 2022

Meeting the Fam

Ahhh... I remember fondly the first time Butch's mom and two older sisters visited us in Montana. Butch and I had been married less than a year and I'd met his mom just once before for a few minutes. I'd never met his sisters. 

I of course wanted to make a good impression on these women in Butch's life, and being somewhat insecure and eager to please, I set about cleaning and cooking and preparing like crazy. 

The house we lived in at the time, in Lolo, Montana, was huge, so the work before me was challenging, especially considering Butch's ridiculously high cleaning standards. I mean, he wanted me to actually clean the oven and MOP. Regularly. Who does that? 

Anyway, the big day arrived and I nervously greeted these three true Texas wimmins, me smiling like a hyena, leading them to their bedroom so they could put their stuff down. Butch, right behind me, expressed how stuffy the room was and turned the ceiling fan on. We hadn't used this fan in a long time, and as it started to turn, faster and faster, a veritable snowstorm of dust came flying down all around us, collecting in my gaping mouth of horror, making all three girls laugh out loud and Butch tsk in disappointment at my lack of fan blade cleaning skills even though these particular fan blades were 20 feet up in the air. Well, wow. Such a  great start! Not embarrassing at all. At least they thought it was funny.

Later that day, Butch's mom decided to sit on the floor in order to more easily pet our Pittie/Boxer mix named Daisy, whereby Daisy stood up and affectionately threw up in Butch's mom's lap, thereby welcoming Grandma heartily and odiferously. Daisy had never done that before nor ever after. To say that I was completely horrified is such an understatement, but it's the best word I can come up with. Mortified, aghast, hoping the earth would open up and swallow me whole, etc... Butch's mom and sisters laughed again, handling this glorious moment beautifully, much to my relief. 

I was beginning to really like these ladies. 

That night, after no further vomitous ados, we all went to bed. The girls were sleeping in the bedroom next to ours and we were in a spare room with a blowup mattress on the floor. As Butch and I lay down, me in utter exhaustion from the embarrassing day, our 100 pound male Golden Retreiver, Hugh, decided to join us in bed. I was afraid his nails would poke through our mattress, thereby deflating it, leaving us laying on a hard floor all night. Hence, I began to say, "Get off," and Hugh did not. I began pushing Hugh, saying a little louder, "Get OFF." He was immovable and I, in my tiredness, got irritated and yelled, "NO!! GET OFF, GET OFF, GET OFF! Dammit!" Whereby Hugh finally got off the mattress, whereby I collapsed on the bed, sighing, and then I felt bad for Hugh who was pouting with the hurt feelings and said, "Oh, come here you big, hairy brute. Come here and give yo momma some lovins."

Oh no. I frantically whispered, "Buuuutch! I hope your mom and sisters didn't hear that. They'll think I was talking to YOU! OMG. OMG. Should I go in there and explain??" 

Butch snored in response, leaving me feeling alone in my horror. Could this day get any worse??!!!  

Giggling from the next room, then outright laughing, which made me start laughing... and feeling better.

You know what? These ladies are A-okay. I think I'm gonna like 'em. ;)

Wednesday, June 22, 2022

Goat Milk Bootlegger

 A few years ago, I discovered the myriad health benefits and utter deliciousness of raw goat milk. I decided I must have this in my life, possible parasitic diseases be darned.

After hunting around Missoula, I found, to my dismay, that selling raw goat milk in Montana is illegal. And as I said, I was dismayed, but undaunted. I would sally forth and find this youthful elixir of hairy Mother's Milk or my name wasn't Alisha Dea the Determined. 

Locating a seller of goat's milk in Washington, where it is legal to sell goat's milk, I did a goat-like leap in the air and gave a loud whoop! I would have my milk, even if I did have to drive 500 miles to get it. 

Butch asked me what I was whooping about and I happily told him, with the air of a victorious conqueror, "I found some goat milk in Washington, where it's not against the law!" 

He mused for a second and then said, "But you'll be bringing it back across state lines, where it's illegal."

I asked, "So?"

"Well... you'll be a goat milk bootlegger."

๐Ÿ˜ฒ In seconds I went from horror of breaking the law to absolute delicious delight. Oh, this was good. My eyes lit up and a smile spread across my face at the thought of being dubbed such an illustrious name, and being known as ... the local Goat Milk Bootlegger. I loved it. I needed it. I had immediate visions of a book with this title, dancing in my head. 

I answered, "Well, the name alone would be worth the risk. And you ought to know all about that, with your misspent youth running beer from Oklahoma to Texas all the time, you crinimal."

"Nah, that was different. Our county was dry. I was just providing a service, for other thirsty Texans."

"Uh huh. Yeah, you were bootlegging. You could give me some pointers though. At least I won't be driving a cherry red '57 Chevy like you were. Talk about conspicuous. Geez. How did you get away with that?"

"The cops were thirsty too."

"Ah ha. Convenient. We could do a tag team goat milk running, kind of like Smokey and the Bandit! Come on! It would be fun!" 

He said, "Nah. The law dogs ain't what they used to be. They got no sense a humor anymore. It was different back in them good old days. We all got along and helped each other out, like good neighbors should. Don't come running to me when you get caught with two cases of bootlegged goat milk stashed in your trunk. Yer on yer own. I seriously doubt the cops have a dyin' thirst for raw goat milk."  


As MUCH as I wanted, needed, to be labeled a goat milk bootlegger, I decided that I'd keep up my lifelong adherence to not being in jail or having a criminal record. So, I tried another tack. I invested in a goat, who someone else takes care of. I get my DElicious goat milk and I'm not breaking the law. Win-win.

That title though...

Coming soon to a bookstore near you - 

 "The Goat Milk Bootlegger" ;)