It has come to my attention that my house was subject to voodoo ritualistic pig sacrifices. At least that’s what my imagination told me when the pest lady found pig bones buried in a mound of dirt in my cellar. Because you don’t discover bones without your imagination going somewhere.
Let me back up.
When our awesomely cool pest lady was here the other day, her and Tyler ventured down to the cellar. They call it a basement here but to me basements have floors and insulated walls and are all ready to be livable rooms. This is not. It’s an old root cellar. And it looks like an old root cellar. With dirt and dankness and darkness. Needless to say, I don’t venture down there much. But one particular area we entered when we viewed the house, we all said “ah, this is where the dead bodies get buried.” Luckily it’s a small area that has no use for anything (other than burying dead bodies). But pest lady went down there and upon inspection, started digging in the dirt mound. And she discovered bones. Only a couple, but clear enough that she was able to identify pig.
Now, at first I was staying logical. Perhaps they needed to dispose of a pig carcass and there was too much snow outside so they found the next best place. Sure, I could see that happening. But the more I thought about it, the more possibilities entered my brain. It’s likely I should avoid horror movies because I’m obviously not responsible enough to handle my horror. Because I eventually ended on voodoo pig rituals.
Knowing, I needed to get to the bottom of this, I messaged my neighbor asking if she was aware there were burial grounds in the cellar. She was not. And she was just as horrified as I was. And we got to bouncing equally disturbing ideas off one another (she totally gets me). But finally she decided she needed to contact her brother and find out exactly why there was a pig buried in my cellar.
It didn’t take long to realize that part of the cellar was open at one point. And they would often give butcher scraps to their dog. And what we had discovered was the dog’s favorite spot to bury its bones. Which isn’t nearly as interesting a story, so when I tell it in the future, there will be voodoo rituals.
Incidentally, this drawing initially started to be a pig representing the poor creature in our basement but it ended up going a totally different direction. So you get it as it is.
Speaking of creatures, we have begun the plans for our chicken coop. Next week we have a consultation with a chicken farm who will teach us the ins and outs of chickening and we will confer with her on our plans to make sure we aren’t building a party hut for barren hens. And the beginning of April the chicks should be ready to come home to us.
So today we ventured to True Value (our only local hardware store) to get some supplies. FYI don’t ask for wood at a Vermont hardware store. You instantly get downgraded to non-local status and get chastised because they “aren’t a lumberyard.” Lesson learned.
But here’s the thing, this particular store has just about everything. its got kitchen goods, its got toys, it has clothes, it has puzzles. Why wouldn’t it have wood too? In fact, it even has cats.
You see, we are walking down the aisle and out of the corner of my eye I see a cat walk by. I said to Tyler, “look! there’s a cat!” but when he looked over it was gone. I walked over to where I saw it and it was nowhere in sight. So at that point I decided maybe I imagined it. But a bit later, we come upon, not one, but TWO cats lounging away in the aisle of the hardware store.
So yes, our hardware store has cats but no wood. Go figure.