Can't keep Bigfoot off my damn peach trees~

So, I called my mom in early July. She had been laid up with a bum knee, and arthritic hips. We start jabbering about life and such. I asked her about the storms that plagued their spring. Dad had been interviewing repair guys last time I talked to them. The storm tore the hell out of their peach tree, but the peaches left were some of the best they'd had in a long time.

Mom: Biggest, juiciest, damn peaches you ever wrapped your lips around. I just can't figure out how to keep the damn Bigfoot off my peach tree.

Me: Wait. What?

Mom: OH! I haven't told you?

Me: No. I would have remembered that.

Mom: WELL! Your father was folding laundry in the garage and he walks into the living room and says, 'Jan, something just growled at me.' I say WHAT? Now, you know your father. He never gets rattled by anything. He said it was so deep it vibrated his chest. I asked, 'Could it be the panther?'

(SIDENOTE: Texas is full of crazy fuckers, especially rich crazy fuckers who on occasion go bankrupt and decide to have a Born Free moment and release their exotic big game cats into the wilds of Texas. They have video of the panther on the evening news all the time. There was a rumor it had escaped from an old circus. My money is on some dumb asshole releasing it)

Mom: Your father says 'No, it wasn't on the van, it was beside it and as tall as the van. I just wanted to let you know in case you took the dog for a walk. I wanted to make sure you bring one of the guns.' I told him the fucking dog can pee in the house.

Me: *snort* I see your point.

  I decided this conversation was going to take awhile. I slipped on my earbuds and grabbed the dog who had been dying for a walk for hours. Pretty much since he woke up. We skip down our front steps and head into the neighborhood while chatting with mom.

Me: So has it been back?"

Mom: Well, she was due through last weekend but it was the 4th and all the asshole rednecks lost their damn minds blowing off fireworks and scared her off.

Me: How do you know it's a girl?

Mom: If you'll let me finish telling the damn story I tell you.

Me: Sorry.

Mom: Right then. Where was I? Oh right, So, we have a bigfoot. What do we do now? I start watching Finding Bigfoot and talking to the guys down at the BFRO.

Me: The what?

Schultz was sniffing the base of the tree. I had my hand over my mouth trying not to laugh, or blurt out "What the FUCK did you just say?!"

Mom: *sigh* The BFRO, BigFoot Research Organization. They're really sweet. They were suggesting all types of stuff like leaving silly putty outside. They like to play with things, and someone suggested it was a way to get a fingerprint or some DNA.

Me: Did you?

Mom: Fuck no! Animals give you one chance to trust them and if you screw that up it will never come around again. I don't want to scare her away.

Me: Sometimes I forget you're just an old horse trainer.

Mom: Damn straight. I've forgotten more than all those motherfuckers ever learned in their lifetime.

I cover my mouth and giggle. I know mom is right. She's been a horse woman for over 40 years. If she don't know it it ain't worth knowing. If anyone is claiming that million from the Finding Bigfoot it will be her. In my head, I see the Young Frankenstein scene where Gene Wilder has Peter Boyle dance to Puttin' on the Ritz. Yeah, my mom could get a BF tap dancing. Easy Peazy.

Me:  So, how do you know it's a girl.

Mom: Well, I was watching the show and they put a pile of stones outside the research camp. The next morning there were three piles of stones. One had the exact number of people in the camp. The smaller amount they assumed were the nearby Bigfeet and the others were a discard pile.

When I was telling the story later, one of my friends asked "A discard pile? What, like they were fucking playing Gin?"

I shrugged. Who am I to question the motivations of a Bigfoot?

Mom: These are real intelligent creatures. They can see in infrared. That's why cameras don't work on them. That's why your father and I got a voice activated recorder and put it in the barbecue pit next to the peach tree.

By this time, I was standing in line at Hole Mole ordering Mexican for lunch. I covered my face and resisted the urge to laugh. My parents are going all Mission Impossible on this Bigfoot's ass. I wonder if it knows the shit storm it has started.

Mom: So I figure if they are smart enough to communicate with numbers, they can communicate with images. So, I grabbed a handful of gravel from the driveway and painted on them. On one I painted a picture of your father, on another there's me, and one of the dog. I don't want it eating my fucking dog.

Me: I see you working.

Mom: Right? So, we leave the rocks on the BBQ pit. I did another 3 with a male, female and baby Bigfoot on the rocks. We left them out with some apples. So, the next morning we find the male rock on the ground and someone took the female and baby Bigfoot stones and pushed them together, with the apple stem pointing at the female.

Me: Assuming they move in nuclear family groups

Mom:.... Don't be a smartass

Me: Sorry.

Mom texts me pictures of the stones.

What is really horrible is I expected a huge dick on the male bigfoot. I guess a big ole' set of tittes ain't any better. LOL


Mom: Okay. What this tells me is the male is wandering somewhere North West of the property while the female and baby are crossing through the property about twice a month.

Me: Okaaay.

In my head, all I can think is I am going to tell my friends this story and we are going to laugh about it. Then next year sometime, I'm going to have a Texas Sheriff calling me saying my parents have been savaged in the middle of the night by a wild animal. And I am going to have to tell a grown man.

"I told them not to feed a Bigfoot off their front porch..."