The first question The Hubs asked when I told him I was going to start a blog was: “Oh great. Are you going to use it to talk bad about me on the Internets?”
Who me? Do what??
Honestly! I see no reason to use this medium to complain about The Hubs. Yes, it’s a place for me to talk about events happening in my life, voice my opinions and discuss whatever else I deem important. But to air my dirty laundry? I don’t think so. That’s what girlfriends and wine are for. Of course there are times where I may pick on him…just because he gives me such great material….but I would never write about anything private between the two of us, or dish on something that was hurtful. I’m not heartless! I know where to draw the line. So, know that when I write things that seem to poke fun of him; it’s all done with the best intentions and probably to get a laugh out of someone (myself included). Because I know that some of you out there can relate to what I’m saying. And laughter is the best medicine, right?
That being said though…I did warn him that this particular topic would come up. And it’s ok because he already knows exactly how I feel about the situation.
The situation I’m about to discuss is serious. It involves my kitchen and a sheep. I know…I know. You’re confused already.
Let’s back up 17 years: The Hubs is a teenager. He draws a coveted Bighorn Sheep tag. And I say coveted for a reason….some of the other phrases I’ve heard people use to describe pulling a Bighorn Sheep tag in Montana are: “nearly impossible,” “if you’re lucky enough to draw one,” “you’d never have a prayer of drawing one.” My personal favorite? It’s the hunting equivalent of Willy Wonka’s Golden Ticket. Ok I just made that up. But it’s true. Another article on the Internet said an Illinois hunter paid $245,000 for a Bighorn Sheep tag. Craziness! So you get it right? These things are pretty rare? Coveted one might say.
So Little Hubs gets a tag. Little Hubs goes out hunting and sacks a huge Ram. Little Hubs is proud. His Dad is proud. His Mom is proud. His sister is proud. Everyone is proud because who, at such a young age, gets a Bighorn Sheep tag and shoots a huge ass ram to boot? The Hubs. That’s who. All of this proudness resulted in a shoulder-mount of this coveted ram. Yes. That means hair. And eyeballs (The Hubs says they’re marbles, but honestly it doesn’t really matter because eyeball or marble, they still follow you around the room all creepy-like).
Do you see where I’m going with this? Do you remember me saying kitchen earlier?
Am I starting to sound (a) rational or (b) kinda like the mean wife who hates the coveted ram?
I can’t decide either.
Why don’t I take this opportunity to introduce you to the
man ram of the hour?
Let me just set something straight before I go on. My issue isn’t with the sheep itself (even though sometimes I feel like Harry from Harry and the Hendersons….wanting to look on the other side of the wall to see where the rest him is!). But really…I get it. It’s a big fricken deal to get a tag for one of these. And it’s a big deal to The Hubs…so I have to respect that. Did I ever think I would have half of an animal hanging on the wall in my house? Ha Ha. Get real. I’d never even eaten wild meat until I met The Hubs. Honestly, I prefer an antler mount (where you just show off the antlers…so no eyeballs) to a shoulder mount. But like I said, I guess I get it, and I’ve resigned myself to the fact that “yes Janna, you will have half of a dead animal hanging on your wall.”
So, my issue is with the current placement of the sheep. Remember this post where I showed you my spoon collection and hutch? Something was lurking in the outer fringes of those shots…
Are you thinking “maybe it’s ok…it’s not like it’s front and center of everything.” ??
Actually my friends….it is.
Mr. Sheep has a front-and-center view of everything I do: cooking dinner (breakfast/lunch/snacks), washing dishes, unloading groceries, eating, entertaining guests. You name it.
In fact, to the untrained eye (unlike myself), he’s probably one of the first things people notice when they enter our house. Here’s a shot down the hall through our living room (where the front door comes in).
Maybe you’re starting to see my side of the story. I’m not sure where or how “coveted ram” fits into my decorating style. In my defense, it was hung before I moved in…so I’ve kind of gently decorated around it for the past 5 years. And it’s not exactly one of those things you can demand be removed…it would be like telling Charlie to give back the Golden Ticket.
The other issue is –assuming sheepo has to stay— that there really isn’t a better place to hang this thing in our house. Our kitchen has really tall walls (that extend up to a loft above the kitchen) so there’s plenty of wall space. In reality I guess I should feel lucky that the sheep got hung here instead of “in-yo-face-style” on our standard 8 ft walls in the living room. I should also consider myself lucky that I came along when I did, because I know that The Hubs still considers parts of this wall to be prime real estate for future hangings.
I’m not kidding. There is currently a debate in our house about where his Elk rack from last season should go (something about how it’s the biggest he’s ever gotten….measures really big…..yadda yadda yadda). Maybe I’ll write about that someday. Ooooo….maybe I could do a poll and see where my readers think it should go! Stay tuned….
So there you have it. My biggest decorating dilemma. Should I embrace the sheep and make him part of my style (you know, Santa hats at Christmas…camo in the fall)? Probably not. For now…I’ve chosen to
pretend it’s not there live with it because (1) it could be worse (I think) and (2) I don’t even notice him staring at me anymore. Plus, it’s always a little amusing when someone new comes over and I see them notice it for the first time.
The best I can hope for is moving into a new house someday where I will
decide be an active player in the placement decision. Wait, no. It will have to be a requirement that we have some sort of rustic den or man cave in a new place. Isn’t that where all the animal heads/racks and beer fridges should go anyways? Not in a kitchen. No no. Far, far away from the kitchen where I’m actually trying to eat. (Have you ever tried eating something with a big bowling-ball eye staring at you the entire time)?
Gosh. I feel like maybe I have aired a little bit of my dirty laundry here. I guess it’s just another day in the life of a hunting wife. Trying to find balance between somewhat of a stylish home and coveted sheep heads. Ugh.