Dis shuld be da Fif Strand to corryspond toda Fif monf which is May. At weast, dat wuzza'riginal idea - dat each Strand would be da same assa monf. Well, dat didn quite werk oud, you'll notice, which is preddy much normal heer at Our Warren.
Ennyway tidday issa 24th day ob May. Nod dat id madders. Cos whut madders is Heer We Go Agin: Dadda has comed up wiffa "noo way" ob geddin hay for us. I herd him tawkin aboud it to Maman.
Now Maman don'wike buyin our hay. She don wike "commercial" hay cos id iss 'spensib an id is not gwown wocally. She says dat if we don buy stuff frumma wocal farmers, soon dere won't be enny wocal farmers. Budda fing is, dere aren't dat menny wocal farmers an dere hay is mostwy gwown for horses an issn all dat gwate for bunnies. Da noo bale dat Maman an Dadda god yestidday, Dadda says mite as well be stwaw, dat's how bad id is.
Bud Maman boughted hay frumm pet store an she didn wike dat eidder. She sed it was too soft, an it costed as much assa bale fora weaf, an besides dat, id was gwowed sumpwace far away an ober-raked ennyways - so sod dat fora game ob soldiers.
So she won't be buyin dat agin.
Inna meantime, we're siddin heer axtin for da good stuff.
So yestidday, Dadda says to Maman dat, "We kin gwow our own hay."
An as soon as I heared dat, I said to Hunny, "Uh oh."
An Clover, who issa optymist, sed, "Nono, wet's heer dis oud."
An Luckie, who issa Stoopid Liddle Dreamer sed, "Maybe dere habbin a GOOD idea."
An Maman sed, "Howzat?" cos she is dumber den Luckie.
An Dadda sed, "Well, we kin wet pard obba garden be turned ober to good gwass. I kin use pooties for fert'lizer."
An rite dere I stawted shakin my hed: Dadda is allus wookin fora way to ged rid obba pooties. He makes piles obb'em inna garden an den waits to discobber pwaces to pudd'em. So far, he's found da pwace where sum neighbourhood guys cutted fru da hedge at nite. So he digged a hole an filled id up wif pooties anna contents obba catz-box. Den he added wadder. Den he weft it. So at nite, whenna guys twied to come fru da hedge, dey stepped inna hole, up to dere knees inna slurry ob cat-poo an yucky pooties. Id stopped dem frum comin fru da garden, doh. I culd heer dem sayin rilly bad werds aboud Dadda frum my winder.
Dadda sed, "Den, whenna gwass gwows we cut id."
An Maman sed, "Bud inna Township, dere issa waw aboud aggyculchur. We can't wet it gwow too high. Ennyfing ober knee high an you'll be in twubble."
An Dadda sed, "Knee high will be enuf."
An Maman sed, "How you gonna cut it? We don godda baler."
An Dadda sed, "Scythe id. Don' need a baler."
An Maman, who usta lib inna Norf ob Inkwand sed, "Whut'cha gonna do den, stook id?"
An Dadda sed, "Yes."
Den Hunny calls ober to me, "Whut'ssa 'stook'?" An I sed dat I didn know bud id didn sound good.
You see, Maman an Dadda is 'ammychur historians' which means dey know a wot aboud whut peebles did a hunnert or so yeers ago. Now da reason dat peebles did fings da way dey did a hunnert or so yeers ago is cos dey didn't know enny bedder. Now dat dey know bedder, dey don't do fings dat way enny more.
Sum how, dis wast pawt obba wesson is wost on Maman an Dadda. Dey nod onwy know how fings was done a hunnert or more yeers ago, bud dey keep wantin to do fings dat way, ebben doh dey pwobabwy shuldin't now dat dere are bedder ways.
Maman sed to Dadda, "I don know how to stook hay."
An Dadda sed, "I do. Id's easy."
Dees are dangerous werds when Dadda says dem.
Bud he went on: "You ged two bits ob stwing an lay dem onna gwound. Den you lay da dwy hay onna stwings an tie uppa hay. Den you stand uppa hay an wet it dwy sum more. Den you pud da stooks inna shed."
"An waid for spontaneous combustion." Added Maman.
She is helpful wike dat.
An Dadda sed, "Nod if you dwy it rite to begin wif."
An I'm finkin dat you nebber shuld wet two ober-eddykated hoomins woose inna field togedder.
Cos I know whut Maman is seein in her hed. She has showed me buks where dere are pikchurs ob peebles dwessed in red, gween an bloo hoods an jackits an dey hab stockins on dere wegs an dey are doin fings wike cuddin gwapes an stuff. Dey are pikchurs frumma wong time ago bifore hoomins god smawt an stopped doin fings wike dat.
Bud dis is whut Maman is seein in her hed. Whut she is NOD seein, is her, inna wong dwess an sandals, or Dadda in jeans an dwess shoes, jumpin on shubbles an diggin inna dirt, emptyin pwastic bags ob pooties inna hot sun, or bweakin a nail or geddin bugs inn'er hair or him sprainin a mussel or her twistin her ankle or sumfing else stoopid or Dadda carryin her off toda 'Mergency Room wif bee-stings or him geddin cobbered in poison iby an scratchin forebber or sumfing.
See, I know dees two.
So afta wistenin for a widdle bid, Clover shakes her ears an says, "Uh oh is rite."
An ebben Luckie, da Stoopid Widdle Dreamer, shakes her ears an says, "Dis mite nod turn oud too well."
An Hunny gwabbed uppa mouf-full ob hay, wooked ober at me an sed, "Bugger it."
An I sed, "Yup."
Cos we know bedder. Bud Maman an Dadda don.
So Here We Go Agin.