As you may have figured out, I don’t live at the ranch. I’m a big girl *puffs out chest proudly*. So I often get my dose of animal antics over the phone. For example, I called Dad’s cell phone on Sunday, and the conversation went something like this:

Me: “So, what’s going on?”
Dad: “We’re going on a Sunday drive…look at this guy! He’s clearly got his head up…ok, sure, cut me off without a turn signal.”
Me: “Well, you’re talking on the phone and driving…so…”
Dad: “And I’m still driving better than this guy. What’s on your mind?”
Me: “I don’t know…I was supposed to call, but I can’t remember why.”
Dad: “RIGHT! We got our first confirmed kill!”
Mom (in background): “OOOO! Yeah! I wanted to tell her about that!”
Me: “…uh…”
Dad: “Ok. So. We think a mouse wandered into the grain room where the kitties live.”
Me: “That was a mistake.”
Dad: “Definitely. Whiskers…uh…whisp…”
Mom: “It’s WHISPER, honey.” (I can hear her roll her eyes just in the tone of her voice, Grammy is in the background too, giggling)
Dad: “Right, whatever. WhisPER pounced on it, and then the three of them spent at least half an hour passing it back and forth, playing with the poor little thing.”
Mom: “Poor little thing! It’s a MOUSE!” (outraged, as if this is on par with “felon”)
Dad: “Still, it wasn’t very nice. Anyway, it was a group effort, but Squeaky wanted the credit so he brought it out to Mom.”
Mom (still in the background): “And I gave them all a treat! I’m training them to be heartless serial killers.”
Me: “I wish I could say I was surprised.”