Lemons = Viagra

Bet you didn't know that one, did you?

But it's true! We found that little fact out two weekends ago when my husband and I were juicing about half of the kazillion lemons we harvested from our little tree. Oh, and when I say "we harvested," I really mean me in the pitch black of night before a frost warning, pulling lemons off with fingers numb from the cold and getting scratched up like the loser of an alley cat fight.

Here's just one of the baskets that I picked:

Possibly the fruit of good and evil?



Our little 6-foot tree ended up filling over 5 of those bad boys (yes, I used laundry baskets... it's what was on hand late at night)! I gave away what I could to my parents, my friends, my hairdresser, strangers on the street, and then we used about half a basket for freezing.

Hubby juiced about 3 gallons, which we measured into individual cups and froze. I froze two gallon bags worth of individual lemons slices, and zested 2 cups of peel. We sliced some for our tea and water. And I immediately made a large pitcher of lemonade.

Our entire house smelled lemony fresh!

Standing in the kitchen together, my husband tried to ignore the sticky floor where we had spilled drops of lemons juice as we gazed into each other's eyes. I realized he sacrificed watching an NFL play-off on his big TV in the living room to spend time juicing lemons with me.

And before either of us could speak...

...we heard our kid yell, "No, [Furry Dude]! No!!!"

"Mooommmm... [Furry Dude] won't leave me alone."

"What's he doing?" I yelled back from the kitchen.

"He keeps grabbing my leg."

Uh oh.

Let me just say that Furry Dude is 13-years-old and is in the early stages of congestive heart failure. He doesn't do a whole lot of activity any more. But I had a bad feeling and was trying to find a way to ask my innocent 5-year-old if the dog was trying to do the nasty to his leg.

"Is he trying to dance with you?"

"Yeah. He keeps bothering me and I keep telling him no."

I kicked of my shoes, which were partially congealed to the lemon juice on the floor, and ran into Little Dude's room to see him perched on the top of the futon while Furry Dude was grabbing at his ankle.

With a "NO!" that reverberates across the neighborhood, I pulled the dog off my precious child. My husband, also shoeless, came running in and dragged the amorous creature out of the room.

"Dude, he's just trying to show you who's boss." I told our kid. "You have to be firm with him when you tell him 'No.'"

"Okay." And back to his games he went like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, back in the sanctuary of lemony goodness, Big Dude was trying to settle down Furry Dude. We resumed our work with the lemons, but we could see Furry Dude out of the corner of eyes in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Look," my husband said as he pointed at the pitiful creature.

And we both snickered as we saw Furry Dude literally hump the air.

"That's enough," my husband told him, try to muster some authority (which is not easy when you're laughing).

Furry Dude sat down and we went back to work.

"Oh, no," I said, "look at him now."

And again, Furry Dude was humping the air. It was like he couldn't help himself. Every time my husband would say "that's enough" he'd sit down, but poor little Furry Dude had a serious boner. It lasted for hours and we considered seeking medical advice at one point to heed the warning on some of those ED medication ads ("If you have an erection for over four hours...").

*Note: No blankets or other items were harmed or humped during the making of this photo.

We've never seen Furry Dude in such a frenzy before... I mean, without a female dog around. He's been fixed for years. And although he might do a little "dancing" in his mixed up effort to get another dog to play with him (obviously, he needs some counseling), but nothing like this has ever happened.

"I think it's the lemons," my husband said. "There must be something in the scent that's making him horny."

Great. That's just what I needed to hear when we were both covered in juice.

But my husband found a bright side: "At least he's getting some exercise."

It took a day for the overpowering smell of lemons to dissipate. And sure enough, Furry Dude's lust waned at the same time. The leftover lemons have since found a good home at a local food bank. And our home, and dog, are back to normal.

But we will never again underestimate the power of lemons!

The Case of the Kamikazee Squirrel

Yesterday I ran over a squirrel.

Poor little squirrel.

I felt queasy and light-headed as soon as it happened.

I'm sure the squirrel felt worse.

I was driving back to work from lunch when out of the corner of my eye I saw a blur of fur running towards my vehicle. It's choice to cross six lanes of traffic was not a wise one. And soon I heard/felt the familiar thump-thump of doom.

As I drove on, I think I saw the squirrel bounding back the way it came... slower and possibly without a tail. If it survives, it will not make that mistake again!

Of course, I had to immediately call my sister and tell her what happened. "Dad would be so proud of you," she said. So I told my dad what happened. Indeed, he was proud of me... for not swerving or braking.

Growing up, one of our first lessons of the road was to never swerve or brake when you find yourself about to create a fresh batch of road kill (deers, elk and larger animals were the exception to the rule). His reason for the rule was that by swerving or suddenly braking, you could cause an accident or otherwise put yourself in peril. Therefore, it was better to send the small, woodland creature to the great free range in the sky.

The squirrel isn't my first road kill. And some people would be very happy to hear that I single-handedly took another offensive rodent off the streets. (My mom offered to get me a squirrel sticker for the door of my car.) My driving history is peppered with the deaths of a few other small furry and feathered creatures. I always found it gruesome.

But none of my stories are as gruesome as my father's famous dog-meets-trailer incident.

It happened sometime in the 1980s. My father, whom I should mention is a dog lover, was driving his truck and towing a large horse trailer through town. As he came upon a bus stop, a small dog unfortunately jumped into the path of his tires.

Unable to swerve or brake without causing harm to the horses in the trailer, my dad took a deep breath and...

thump-thump...

thump-thump.

Every tire on the passenger side of the truck and trailer (which had two axles) introduced itself to the poor little doggy.

My dad looked back in his mirror to see the dog's owner staring at the puddle of fur at the end of her leash.

Yes, folks. That's right. The dog was on a leash.

So hopefully this is a lesson to all. If your dog likes to bark at cars, make sure he's not barking at the front end of a truck towing a trailer. Otherwise, he might end up as the punchline of a story retold by a distinguished blonde-haired man with a twinkle in his eye.