DAZE WORK: Animal stories adorn the fair and more

Some of the stories I’m about to share might make a lot more sense if I didn’t live smack dab in the middle of Greencastle.

But then I’ve always been a sucker for a good animal story. I blame it on listening to WLS radio in Chicago and cutting my teeth on Superjock Larry Lujack doing a darkly humorous segment called “Animal Stories.” In the daily bit, “Ol’ Uncle Lar” would share some wild tale gleaned from the wire services with Little Snot-Nosed Tommy, who was always worried the featured animal would somehow be hurt in the making of the joke embellished by the brutal sarcasm of Lujack.

So yes, it’s fair time in Greencastle. Time for some animal stories. Or as the old Greencastle Wash ‘n Fill sign would annually warn: “Moo, oink, cluck ... it’s the fair!” You know, cows, pigs and chickens ... because “lions and tigers and bears” would only be false advertising.

Of course it’s fair time. The other day I ran into a lovely lady at Walmart with six box fans in one of the two carts she was maneuvering, pushing one and pulling the other through the produce section.

“Got to keep the animals cool,” she informed as I gawked at the cartload of fans.

Don’t forget, I was once an esteemed judge of something called Bossy Bingo, a fair fundraiser in which a cow wandered around the ring until it dropped a plop on a numbered square on the inside arena floor. I had to judge the Shinola and whether it was totally on a square, split two squares or created a splash zone. I’ve managed to leave that experience off my resume.

It’s been a few years ago but my sister once brought her kids here from Southern California during fair week. Aside from bounding up my stairs to look out the back window and disappointingly asking, “Where’s the pool?” and referring to a pan of sloppy joes steaming on the stove as “looks like bug guts,” my nephew famously dubbed the shorn sheep in their colorful satiny cover-ups “California Sheep.” In my family, that’s what they’re called to this day.

Like I said, I live in the heart of Greencastle, so my animal stories ought to be shrinking these days compared to when we resided on Saddle Club Road with 220 acres of Madison Township woods behind us or up on Hilltop Lane where a huge cornfield beyond my backyard would routinely lure a dozen deer looking for evening snacks.

Probably the most exciting thing that ever happened to us out west of town was when my daughter’s cat -- possibly the dumbest feline on the planet --- dragged a deer leg out of the woods and triumphantly left it on our back deck like some mouse or mole she had snagged for our pleasure.

Or the morning I left for work and ran into a huge cow, bigger than my Toyota, grazing in the side yard, undoubtedly quite a ways from home and the range. It was a Hereford, I believe, from my vast knowledge of cattle (in college I once had a girlfriend excitedly tell me she had won Missouri Charolais Beef Queen one weekend but what I heard was “Charlie’s Beef Queen” and wondered if the servers all wore rollerskates and short shorts, effectively putting an end to my hopes of being Charolais Beef King).

Before I even moved to my Highwood Avenue abode -- just a stone’s throw from Kroger -- one of the neighbors warned that I should watch my little Westie when I let him out because coyotes were making neighborhood cats and small dogs disappear. Another noted that her doorbell camera nightly captured raccoons dancing on her front porch.

Turns out those have been the least of my animal adventures in town.

A couple years ago a fawn with ears sticking straight out of the sides of its head was born in the greenery that grows up beneath my kitchen window. It took a few days but the mother eventually came back and now I spot the entire deer family within my fenced side yard at times. Even the Comcast cable guy spied them one afternoon as I opened the back door for him but he was frozen in his truck, watching the deer family’s every move like it was “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.”

I’ve had a red-shouldered hawk roost on my power line, a pileated woodpecker knocking out bugs on the huge ash tree in the middle of my back yard until I had it cut down for shedding limbs onto my parked cars, and four and 20 blackbirds living in my big oak tree out front, swooping down to dive-bomb my living room window at all hours. Then, of course, there’s the occasional bat that sneaks in for a visit.

If the buffalo start to roam, it may be time for a new home.

Just this weekend I added to my animal stories lore. Seems my neighbor is having a pergola built on her patio and asked if the construction guys could access the site from my driveway, which is closer than hers, to unload equipment.

Always glad to help, I said no problem and made sure to tell my visiting daughter and her kids to watch out for the Bobcat they were using.

A little while later, my soon to be eight-year-old grandson, came back in, all sweaty and obviously disgusted.

“I didn’t see any stinkin’ bobcat,” he huffed, as if he was going to go all Davy Crockett on him had he run into a wild one in my yard.

It all just has me thinking of the late comic Norm Macdonald and his classic line: “Why do dogs always run to the door when the bell rings? It’s almost never for them.”

All these animals stories are true and no species were injured in the making of this column (unless you count a bat or two).