from the oxycodone zone
It is about time I got back to work on the Plains Feeder. As the founder (as in: Bernard Hensley, founder) and no-nonsense boss of the Plains Feeder, there is much that I could explain regarding my absence from my favorite old blog. How I've been ill. The bad prognosis. The move to New Mexico. The cancer treatments. The destruction of the feedlot and the new orchard.
It ought to be easy to get some blogging done. I'm sitting in the shade on the front porch, using our little wireless netbook. I have a cold drink, some day-glow blue electrolyte concoction. It is quiet with only the birds tweeting and a gentle breeze wafting. I ought to be on a blogging roll. Instead, I'm in the oxycodone zone. My doctors have decided that I must take sufficient oxycodone, a synthetic imitation opium, to keep me stupid day in and day out. I'll have to blog on, in spite of my thoughts being clouded, my sensibilities numbed and my typing fingers unresponsive.
So you don't get confused, dear reader, I intend to label all the posts I write while impaired. I will mark them at the top right corner with the words "Oxycodone Zone". You are on notice that the accompanying post will be of low qualty, and may make an informed decision as to investing any time or effort trying to read it. But wait! There is more! No, no.... See what I mean?
DadBones spotted a Bobcat at the orchard just before he returned to Iowa. Jean sees lizards.