Last Christmas, my kids gave me this little sign to post in my yard. The sign came with no post, so I got a piece of scrap re-bar which was about 2 feet long, stoked up a good fire in the fireplace and heated that sucker until it was white hot. Then I carried that glowing steel torch down to the basement where I, having managed not to burn down my house whilst hauling it through the den, down the stairs and into my workroom, managed to bend and hammer a nice “S” curve into the end of that sucker. Once cooled and painted, it looked better than anything I could have bought at the hardware store.
I might add, that while pretending to be a blacksmith, no burns, injuries or casualties were incurred requiring neither a visit the local emergency room nor a dip into my Health Savings Account (HSA) to pay for said visit. That said, I do not recommend home blacksmithing. It be very dangerous to your health and is no doubt, just plain moronic. But this is not a story of a handyman blacksmith. This is a story of my 4 year old nephew.
On Sundays after Church, my in-laws often take their grand kids to the Taco Bell for some fat laden, gas producing toxic taco eating. After one such fine dining experience a few months ago, my in-laws (“Mookie” and “Bah Bah” to their grandchildren) were delivering the kids home when my nephew who can’t read, noticed the sign in the grass.
“What does that sign say Mookie,” he asks?
And she responds, “Well Clayton, it’s a sign for dogs that says, ‘NO POOPING ON THE GRASS.’”
To which he counters with a somewhat puzzled look on his face, “That’s silly Mookie, dogs can’t read.”
Now I would argue dogs can read, because since I put that sign up, my son has not dragged nearly as much poo on the bottom of his shoe into our house.