Conversations with my dad.

[snarp]

Dad: Sarah! Emergency! Help! Help!

Me: With what?

Dad: Emergency! Emergency! Very bad! Help!

Me: Did the dogs do something?

Dad: Help me!

Me: What did the dogs do? Oh, they found another carcass.

Dad: No, honey, it's really bad, it's an emergency -

Me: Yeah, that's a jawbone, they've brought back three of those -

Dad: It's a jawbone! It's got teeth on it! It's very bad, where did they get it?!

Me: From a discarded skull from someone dressing deer, maybe! It's not like this is the first time they've done this!

Dad: Where are they finding them, is someone just cutting deer up in the hills?! Oh, no!

Me: Please do not put the jawbone in the kitchen garbage. Don't throw the bloody towel agh!

*He throws the bloody towel at me.*

Comments

[niqaeli]

How -- how has your father managed to live in Kentucky for however long as he has? I mean, this is basic semi-rural to rural living stuff that I would expect someone to be adjusted to?

I mean, I'm not mocking here, I'm honestly bewildered. Like. How?

(Context: I grew up in Cookeville, TN. Actually, I grew up about nine miles outside of the actual town in the woods. But it's easier to just say Cookeville to most folks.)

[snarp]

We're also literally in some woods, and the time-frame under discussion here is "thirty fucking years." So, I don't know. I don't know.

[niqaeli]

O_o