ToDaZeD Stamping Out Burning Ducks
Life in The Country™
This morning at about 6am, someone had a very, very bad day. He and his car made this sculpture of our east gate.
And this is what seems to have taken the brunt of the hit. This was the gate anchor post made of 8” well casing [used] sunk 3 feet into the ground into a well-tamped concrete base. Ripped that puppy clean outta the ground and it ended up about 15 feet away from it’s original position. Un-dented. Barely scraped.
And no skid-marks on the highway. yikes. Considering the time and the lack of traffic, he musta hit this going at least 55-60.
We were lucky, indeed. The cows were all away on other pasture pending the rebuilding of our highway fenceline. [yes - the entire thing. It was about 50 years old, so it didn’t owe us anything] The Mister and various friends have been working on that project for about a month, now, so there were rounds of modulated cussin’ at the mess made of their fresh-stretched fence. They were due to finish at the other end this week. The cows were due to move back to this pasture today.
*whew*
Even the damfool grape-herdin’ neighbor was lucky. His super-kewl, high-dollar, shiny black cyclone deer fence was barely stretched. If that car hadn’t been slowed by that gate anchor post, he’d have lost a lot of fence, some pricey decorative tree roses and a well head.
Something rarely considered when an accident like this happens: The Mess. The emergency responders did a damfine job of cleaning up—even left the license plate behind *thanQ!*—still, Lovely Daughter the Elder and I spent a couple of hours gathering glass shards, bits of shattered plastic and dashboard junk away from the fence so we could scrape the area [about 500 ft2] with the skid-steer to get the glass out of the pasture while the boys were knocking the cement off the post and re-setting it. Took two of ‘em to move the damtning. [She remarked that it’s like when you drop an egg. You know the volume of the spilled matter isn’t really that much—it just seems like a gallon of egg. Same with the busted glass from one car.]
I feel for the poor bassturd—I’m not even sure if he’s still alive. [no police report yet] But piecing together clues from his dashboard litter, it is most likely he’s an illegal with no insurance. We’ll soon see.
Life Is Grand.
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