I laughed. Then I cried.

I regularly discover things at inappropriate times, with regard to everything and everyone. I cannot possibly ask a battery of questions of each new person I meet, nor can I be expected to climb through a fireplace vent and discover what lies within. Or who, for that matter.

The gas fireplace and blower were blasted into life yesterday which damned to hell a legion of stink bugs making quarters in the vent, I can only surmise. I don't know if you have ever incinerated 1000 stick bugs in your gracious living room just before Sunday dinner but I tell you, at least you can stop ogling Grannies new novelty turkey sweater for a few and snap shots of some truly surprised guests.

Yes, I am sure am sorry you missed it too. It was better, and more unexpected than blowing up a fried turkey. Everyone does that now, no big thing, right? But this was spectacular folly.

This is exactly the reason there is a Thanksgiving run-through around here, to work all the bugs out, which has new meaning now.

Alright, so, whatever. It happens. In Bedford where I was raised, the hostess would not let on anything was wrong while her white knuckles wrapped around her glass stem belying her fury at Luis who obviously failed to double check every last thing everywhere. Did they have a sense of humor, or irony? This is Blushing's living room, after all. I laughed for a good five minutes, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Get the champagne, I said when I finally recovered. Fast. Then: No, no, it's for me.

Seriously, I laugh every time I think of it.

Never let them see you sweat, but be sure they know you can laugh.

Pleased to meet you. My dog killed your chicken.

And that is how I met my neighbors in the hulking chateau on the hill.

Yah. So that was fun.

When you think of chickens - those white things flopping around in crates about to be table scraps, this chicken was not that sort. This is Middleburg: The chicken was a large, tonally-greyed, luxurious, queen of an egg-layer.

The kind of chicken whose arrival as a chick at Martha Stewart's Cantitoe would have been covered by three TV crews and about whose development we would have read eighty blog entries. At state fairs, this is the bird a lot of guys in CAT hats gather around and say things like, "Now, that's some hen. Wish I had one like that! She's a beaut, Fred, I tell you..."



Yah.

Her attacker, my dog, is black, perfectly fluffy, snuggly, and conversely, very brave and ferocious and is on staff here strictly because he is the last word in security around the place. He does a fine job in that regard: When you see him defending his family, you will think twice about dealing with him. He is not going anywhere except to a taxidermist when his long, long days are done, so don't get any ideas about how to "handle" the problem.

Anyhow, then I met the neighbor's best friend at the market. I introduced myself and she grabbed my arm and said, "Oh, yes! Chicken killer!" Fabulous!, "I can tell you how to fix this, it involves a shock collar..."

This is a problem for which everyone in a rural community has a different solution, like the common cold. None of them are particularly humane for the dog; as if the chicken had it all that great. I am still working that out.

Hunting is in some dogs instinctively. Like any good fox hunter will tell you, a dog is either a pet or a hunter, never both. One lives in the kennels, the other in the house. One is honed, the other has to be trained out of his instinctual habits.

Now, you might be thinking that here in fox country, the dog is not the chicken's only predator and possibly the chicken needs a different pen, which may be true. But you see, this dog of mine, his abilities are remarkable. Why, just today, he caught this Corgi.



Oh, alright. He catches her several times a day.

(That patch above his eye is from misjudging a fence post at top speed on his way to chase a cat. He's having a tough week.)

Dear Mr. Cuomo

Memo

To: Andrew Cuomo, Attorney General, Great State of New York
From: The Blushing Hostess
Date: February 4, 2009
Re: A Semi-Homemade White House

Sir. With all due respect, I am concerned. Scratch that. I am wildly preoccupied and feel I need to point out how very unwise this Sandra Lee, Miss Semi-Homemade thing could be for you if the news reports are correct, and you intend to run for Governor of this fine Empire State and/or President of these United States.

First, let me be clear that I would have no objection to your holding these offices. On the contrary, I would follow you into battle with only my Meissen as a shield...

But really. Sandra Lee? Never mind the "breast augmentation" gone wrong (swing low, sweet chariot)...

But may I say - yuck, yuck. And trying to forget about her involvement with married Food Network exec Gordon Elliot. Not to mention that unfortunate ickiness with her ex-husband, the CEO of KB Homes. And the fact that she seems to discard one for another as quickly as her ambition has gained all it can from each. Even though you don't need a girl like that after your Kerry Kennedy heartache. Even though you're a better man than people like that. Forget all that. Sure. Never happened.


Oh! And forget all the photos totally not becoming of a First Lady of the state and nation of my birth: If this is the kind of girl you would pick out, I don't think I am comfortable with your judgement, which could send my Husband to war again. No, I am not willing to take that chance. I really think you need to rethink this thing: Heart be damned! You've got to think of your image!

Here is the part I really cannot stomach, not for you, not for me: A Semi-Homemade Governor's residence. A SEMI-HOMEMADE WHITE HOUSE? While I laughed for a good five minutes picturing Sandra Lee and Carla Bruni reading the scented glossies in the private residence and creating "tablescapes" from Michael's and the local aquarium gift shop while the state-chili dinner simmered away in the National Crock Pot and the staff bartender shook up a bunch of refreshing and phallic Bananas Foster Cocktails a la United States of America:

I can not help but imagine what the dining room table will look like on really important occasions, like the Fourth of July.
Always best to remember how the flag is correctly and most respectfully displayed we would not want this unfortunate snafu in the White House:

For the sake of the household, the country, the impression we leave with other nations, I beg of you to consider what you're doing man! I cannot, in good conscience, support you in this.