The Old Virginians

My dishwasher went kaplooey about two weeks ago so I put a call in to the landlord.  To my surprise I got a call back the next day telling me that some fellas would be out in the next day or two to install a new one.  Yeah Me!!!  So the two old Virginians show up on my back deck bearing the wonderful new machine.  I don't know if you've ever heard an old Virginian speak but it's unlike any southern accent I've ever heard.  Very entertaining to say the least.  

So these two ol boys (and I do mean old) were in the kitchen doing their thing all the while the girls are sitting around half listening to their entertaining conversation half getting their schoolwork done when suddenly the four legged chicken killer shows up in the yard.

Gracie sounded the alert and we took off out the back door in a flurry grabbing the trusty Daisy Red Rider on the way out.  We had been practicing and the 4LCK was going to get his due.  This new development greatly interested the old Virginians.  What southern man wouldn't be interested in 5 armed females in hot pursuit of a chicken killer?  Turns out the dog sensed his imminent doom and ran off before we could ping him in the behind with a BB.

After we got back in Gracie needed help with her math work and we got into a lengthy discussion about how to remember horizontal from vertical.  I was totally in my teacher mode talking about root words and the place where the ocean meets the sky yada yada yada.  It was impressive if I do say so myself.

Then one of the girls suggested that maybe we could feed the 4LCK and turn him from evil ways.  Make him sort of a yard/guard dog.  He was obviously hungry and in need of a home. According to our naive thinking, if a dog is well fed then he has no reason to go looking for a chicken dinner.  Made sense to us, so we contemplated the plan for a little while.  Our merciful sides were showing.

All of this finally proved to be too much for the old Virginians.  They could no longer keep silent and idly work on getting the dishwasher installed.  Something had to be said.  So the older one popped up from his spot on the floor and said " Young lady, you shore are smart. You set me straight on how to tell my horizontal and I shore do thank ye fer that. But chew shore don't know tha furs thang about a dawg.  Once sat dawg gits to eatin chickens you ain never gonna break him of it. You bes keep on takin out afta him with that gun evreh time he come aroun. I spec though you betta getcha somptin ta shoot so that dawg'll know he been shot.  That BB gun might sting him but a 22 would work a heap betta."

We now consider ourselves "set straight" by some old Virginian wisdom.

No more hand washing our dishes and target practice continues.