Jun 5 2009
The milk parlor, aka, Mouse House is no longer a haven for rodents, birds and poison ivy. In the last few weeks there’s been a flurry of construction to convert this little out building into an office for Martin.
In just a month’s time Martin will trade in his 10-mile commute for a 30-pace trek across the dewy grass to his milk parlor-turned-home office. It also means I’ll no longer need to call to harass him — I’ll be able to open the window and shout.
Today a grouchy phone company rep arrived to install a phone line in ye ole Maus Haus. He quickly noted that a frayed, rodent-gnawed phone cable already sprouted from a hole in the parlor’s concrete block wall. Back in the day (15 years ago?) a local horse vet called the little one-room dwelling home, so it came as no suprise when the surly phone guy asked, “does a veterinarian live around here?”
Turns out that the Mouse House has been tapped (illegally spliced, that is) into the phone line of one of our local vet clinics…for years. (Ie, the vet had her office line connected to her apartment.)
Granted, if we’d connected a phone to the jack, it would’ve rung off the hook with owners of lame and colicky horses and mares about to foal. But oh, the opportunities missed. The long distance calls I could have made to overseas friends. The updates I could have received on my Aussie soaps. The money I could have saved in 900 calls, on free readings from Miss Cleo, from pet psychics….