Friday, January 14, 2022


Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

Your words are:

crowbar ~ clover ~ massive ~ river ~ pig

It was submitted by:

The idea came from a reddit writing prompt. I really love that subreddit for inspiration at times. 

The day started out pretty routine.

I really should have known better. In all my time living on this land, there's never been a routine day. There are always hijinks, shenanigans, and fuckery afoot that I can't really explain like the time I found a pig or two outside the barn and floating above the house. And honestly that's probably not the strangest thing. But I suppose the quiet of that morning had me lulled into a false sense of security. When you've literally seen pigs fly you think you're prepared for anything.

I was not, in fact, prepared for anything.

I had been full swing into my chorin' that morning to the point I was already done with my thermos of coffee and just about ready for what the hobbits call Elevenses or to the normal folks, a snack. It had warmed up quite a bit so everyone was getting some good sunshine in. The goats were out and fed and milked. The pigs and cows were fed and out to pasture together with Sonny and Cher, my donkeys. I was sitting on the old stump between the barn and the chicken coop having a moonpie (banana of course) when I heard it.

I can't explain the noise besides telling you it wasn't like anything I'd ever heard in my life, and spoiler alert, it wasn't part of the natural earth to be sure. It wasn't loud, but it absolutely surrounded me. How does a sound suffocate someone? I don't know, but I think it could have... All the hairs on my body stood up, and I nearly pissed my pants right there. But here's the thing...

The chickens were calm as could be, so some part of me convinced the rest that maybe it was just a fox or a coyote or something *normal* this time. How can a person who's seen all that I have still have that ability, you might be wondering, but I think the obvious answer here is self preservation.

I wasn't completely out of it, though, because I did go back to the barn and grab a crowbar. Don't ask why I have a crowbar in the barn. That's another story for a different time.

When I stepped into the chicken coop, it smelled like the muddiest river on a hot day. The chickens acted like I hadn't even appeared which you know ain't normal if you've ever spent any time around the things. They know who butters their bread so to speak. Worse than cats about food, honestly.

Once my eyes adjusted to the dimness I could see him. It. I don't fucking know. Do eldritch horrors have pronouns? Or a gender? Anyway, he was quite massive. I don't know how he got in the door honestly. The coop was barely big enough for my short ass to stand up in, and he had me beat by an amount I'm uncomfortable putting in black and white here. His skin was the color of clover, and it rippled like a field of the stuff in a good breeze. I guess he hadn't heard me come in though because he laid there under one of the heat lamps snoring--seemingly--and looking like he'd had a late night of doing whatever eldritch horrors do to have a good time (and, no, I won't elaborate on what that might entail) and cuddled up with three of my silkies.

"Um...uh... Excuse me but it's past time for the chickens to go out."

Yes, Penelope, just talk to the creature sleeping in your chicken coop like the thing to be worried about here is what time the chickens get to poop outside and not whatever is going on with your land.

The thing stretched and looked up at me with eyes deep enough to lose yourself in then sat up.

And I did what any...ok what probably no one else would do and invited him in for a cup of coffee and that's the story of how I met Frank.

Yes, I named him Frank but only because I can't pronounce his actual name without 3 more tongues. He's real nice about it though and anytime the land gets too dry, Frank's happy to stop by and give me a little inclement weather so long as I make him caramel coffee and a peanut butter and banana sandwich with the crusts cut off.

Well. And let him cuddle the chickens but you can't tell anyone about that.


Baking In A Tornado

On the Border

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver

Part-time Working Hockey Mom


  1. Brave, I would have run (no matter what inexplicable things I'd already seen).

  2. You, my friend, have a very warped mind and it's one of the things I love most about you!