All proceeds from Cliff's tractor hobby go into his savings account... it's all his, and I am proud of that, since I'm the one who made that rule. Of course, if he buys a tractor, that comes out of his tractor fund account, too. This is a man who, early in our marriage, had to get by on five dollars a week to buy the gas to get to work, and for most of his life, his money was our only income.
When I got online to move the now-available money from checking to his savings account, I noticed most of the money was gone from our checking account except for the now-approved money from the sold tractor. There was, in fact, only $12 left in checking after I moved that money. I called the bank and was told there was another hold, an "Exception hold" of $675. And I had a bill to pay! I asked for an explanation and the lady said she'd look into it and call back, but she didn't. However, the next day I got a letter from the bank saying that particular hold was because we deposited more than we were supposed to on Monday. This hold lasts longer than the hold on the check, though, until next Wednesday. And I needed to pay that bill sooner than that. So I had to go to my little puny savings (I'm a little jealous of Cliff's money, can you tell?) and move funds to checking so I could pay the bill in a timely manner.
Things are strange since the Covid 19 shut-down, so maybe that has something to do with it, and it may be normal procedure for all banks. But I can't understand why they had to hold money because of a deposit that had already cleared... and such a strange amount! I had no deposits or withdrawals for that amount. I hope they invest my money wisely before they let me have it back next Wednesday.
Enough of that. Folks, we have been getting rain, rain, and more rain: five inches one day, three another. One day it rained off and on all day, but when it let up at noon, I let the three pullets out. I hoped maybe the rain was finished; I was wrong: it was just getting ready to rain harder. Later on in the evening, I looked out and all three not-too-bright chickens were out in the downpour as though they thought they were ducks! I've been around chickens all my life and never seen hens that would stay out in the rain; they usually go running to the henhouse at the first few drops. It wasn't too long until it would get dark, so I went to drive them in their house. I grabbed an umbrella, but it was useless: I learned you can't drive hens into the henhouse in the rain while holding an umbrella over your head. In fact, you can't drive them into the henhouse if they don't want to go, period. In the end, I went sloshing back to the house and put on dry clothes, leaving the hens to put themselves into the house on their own. But until then they continued running around in the rain. So who's the crazy one? Maybe it isn't the chickens at all. Especially since that wasn't the first time that day I got soaked in the rain messing around with animals.
Yeah, some folks never learn. Earlier on the morning of that same very rainy day, I had opened the front door to see if Blue the cat was on the porch waiting to be let in, although I hoped he was either staying dry under the back porch or out at the barn, because we were having a torrential downpour... but no. He was curled up on the corner of the soaking-wet porch (a porch that does nothing to protect from rain). When he got up, he left what was the only dry spot on the whole porch, and that pitiful little dry spot where he'd been huddled up as small as possible made me sad. He ate his canned food and played with Gabe awhile, then I ran out to the barn with him and left him there. Yes, I got soaked doing it, and wouldn't you know he was back at the door (wet) within 10 minutes.
He is currently spending lots of time with the big cats in the barn, as well as several neighboring cats who sneak in daily. There's an older couple nearby who feed all the strays, and they seem to come over here for snacks. In fact, my Jake has moved over there permanently. Maybe it was something I said, or maybe they serve better food.
Gabe has a birthday today: he turns three years old. I'm 76, and I sometimes wonder which of us will be the first to die. It needs to be him, because nobody else would put up with his jealous, needy, bark-out-the-window behavior if I were gone. You could say the same for me, actually (except for the barking-out-the-window part, but I sometimes sing pretty loud). But I'm a human, so I have some say-so about what happens to me, at least until the point I'm not capable any more.
Have a good, thankful Sunday, won't you?