Brad Mosiman can track falcons (and cell phones) on a cloudy day...

 

 It was time for that most pleasurable of Fall activities...Leaf raking. My love of manual labor had me scrambling about the house, attending to the most miniscule of normally-ignored chores. The veil of dust that provides an atmospherically ghostly-glow to our television watching was methodically eradicated from the screen. A toothpick snowplowed a year's worth (or more) of fallen flakes from the rubber road that seals our freezer door. Time was also spent researching the term for the rubber road that seals the freezer door. Fun fact:  It's called a gasket.

After a thorough inventory and categorization of our extensive VHS and DVD collection, I sighed and realized that I couldn't put it off anymore. 

It was time "to help" Brad.

After over three decades of marriage, I continue to be perplexed by his delight and appreciation when I VERY reluctantly join him in laborious, mundane, cumbersome, tiring tasks. 

Fortunately, he'd completed the gathering of leaves into systematic piles part of the project so that "all" that was left to do was the picking up and transporting. "We should be done in a little over an hour," my husband cheerfully predicted. Sigh.

He handed me our tools...two snow shovels, the "good" rake, and the bottom of the broken rake that we've (he's) been using like a broom's dust pan for the last six years. 

Brad works with methodical precision...using the shovel and rake bottom like salad tongs to effortlessly scoop up giant helpings of leaf lettuce into our little trailer. Given the "good tools," I liberally sprinkle leaves all over our lawn like cinnamon sugar on toast. Without a word of complaint, Brad cheerfully rakes then back together before hopping on the 4-wheeler to move the trailer to another pile...using fractions to inspire (frustrate) me. "Three-eighths of the leaves fit into the trailer," he shared (like I cared). "How many trips will we need to take to finish the lawn?" What sort of idiotic word problem was that? Bad enough that I'm doing lawn work (sort of). Now he's quizzing me with fraction-based math word problems?

On our second trip to dump our leaves, our little dog decided to do a little adventuring. 

"Make sure to keep a close eye on her," Brad unnecessarily warned, as though talking to an idiot, "If she wanders into the underbrush, there's a good chance we're not getting her back." I rolled my eyes, dismissing him entirely. My stars...SO-OO controlling. 

I followed behind my slowly meandering mutt, scrolling through the litany of pictures I'd taken of Chlo and I "helping" Brad rake. I glanced up in time to see the tip of her tail disappearing into the tangle of vines, weeds, and thorns. Pocketing my phone quickly, I lunged at her but it was too late. I peered into the shadows to see her making her way down the decline, nose to the ground. I screamed her name but her 14-year-old ears had long lost their ability to hear and, prior to that, she had selective hearing anyway. I dove into the fray. With Johnny Horton's song echoing in my mind, I desperately clawed my way through the dense underbrush..."And she crawled through the briars and she crawled through the brambles and she crawled through the bushes where only a wiener dog could roam..."...The vines ensnared me, keeping me from Chlo who, I was certain, was soon to disappear down a rabbit hole...I reached for a nearby tree to winch my way out, not realizing that it was covered with sharp thorns. Blood running down my palms, face scratched, knees muddy, I propelled myself ever forward...gravity and good luck finally launching and landing me on my little dog. 

Now...UP-hill...through the same mess...only this time, carrying my wayward wiener dog. 

I finally made it. Sigh of relief. Brad Mosiman NEVER need know of this.

I quick reached for my phone...

My phone.

My phone?

Oh no.

I'm sure he would have known from my somewhat disheveled state but, nonetheless, I still had to confess. Dusk drew near...and along with it...condemnation.

Brad Mosiman was NOT as gracious as he could have been.

He tossed down his broken rake and, dare I say, stomped over to the 4-wheeler. I was in no mood to cuddle behind him so I hoofed it back.

"Just give me your phone and I'LL find it," I said petulantly. I already felt stupid and there was NO way that I was going to admit that I should have listened to my husband in the first place. But, like all Mosiman women, I had an unshakable faith in Brad Mosiman's abilities in ALL THINGS but refused to show him the respect that should accompany his intelligence, common sense, logic, hard work, persistence, determination, and all-around grit. The minute I realized I had lost my phone, I knew immediately that Brad Mosiman would find it. The quote from Princess Bride flashed neon in my mind:  "He can track a falcon on a cloudy day, he can certainly find a cell phone." Brad Mosiman has tracked minute blood trails of soon-to-downed deer through swamps IN THE DARK. My cell phone would be a snap...if he or I didn't snap first.

He scoffed at my words.

Scoffed.

"Where was your entry-point?" he snarled.

Seriously?

I can barely find my assigned gate at the airport.

I looked for a thorny tree, dripping with my blood.

In the meantime, Brad dialed my phone and then spun like a compass. "There," he said.

Where?

But he'd disappeared...hot on the scent...following a sound that must have come from a dog whistle because I didn't hear a thing.

He re-emerged immediately, silently handed me my phone, and stomped back up the hill to finish the leaves.

Brad Mosiman loves it when I help.