Getting "Hosed"

At a campground, the sewer hose running from the Wilson’s trailer to the park’s sewage system became blocked. So, Mr. Wilson took a garden hose, hooked one end to an outside water faucet and carried the other end to the trailer’s commode to flush the blockage down.

Mr. Wilson asked Skunky and me to help him with this project, and I suspect the invitation had something to with our using dynamite to rid the Wilson’s barn of cow pies—Mr. Wilson was so touched by our handy work he was left speechless.

“What I want you to do,” he said to us, “is to stand by the faucet and listen for me to yell out the bathroom window for you to turn on the water. Then, when I’m finished I’ll yell for you to shut it off. Can you handle that?”

Could we handle that? What a kidder. He knew from past experience that we could handle it, but he always gave us a hard time, acting like we were going to make a mess of things. Why, he could be so convincing with his tone of voice that someone who didn’t know better would think Skunky and I was a couple of goof balls. Ha! What I guy.

So there we were, standing by the faucet, waiting for our instructions.
“O.K,” Mr. Wilson shouted, and Skunky turned the faucet on.

After 10 to 15 minutes of power flushing the commode, Mr. Wilson yelled for us to shut the water off. We did. But for some reason Mr. Wilson changed his mind for we heard a faint, albeit, kind of scratchy, high-pitched voice yell, “OK!” We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and Skunky cranked the water back on.

“What the . . . !” we clearly heard Mr. Wilson holler, and what a sight did we behold. The trailer rocked violently back and forth as things inside of it crashed, banged, cracked, and went wham! And water was coming out of that trailer from everywhere, through the window screens, out the trailer door, down the steps, and on to the ground, forming a puddle.

Not fair! They were having a water fight in there and Skunky and I were left outside with only our imaginations to envision the fun they were having.

Well, Mr. Wilson exited the trailer and he did not have a fuzzy, warm, kindly look on his face—I’ve seen mug shots on the show America’s Most Wanted that looked more serene and tender.
According to Skunky’s mom and siblings, when the garden hose regained life, it acted like one of those “water weenies” they used to advertise on TV. It wiggled out of Mr. Wilson’s hands, flip-flopped around in all directions, spraying water everywhere.

Pictures went flying, nick knacks on the counters went sailing through the air, knocking people in the head, and everyone tumbled over each other as they looked for cover.

Skunky’s younger sister took a direct hit between the eyes from the water cannon and his dad bruised his shoulder diving to the floor in an effort to smother the thing and gain control of it.

Finally, he did regain control of the hose and bolted out the door with it in hand. Always the kidder, he pretended like he wasn’t having fun and blamed all the chaos on Skunky and me.

“Why the heck did you crank the water back on after you shut it off?!

“We did what you told us to do,” we were laughing so hard at his “act” we could barely speak.

“What are you talking about?!” he asked.

“You said to turn on the water when you shouted ‘OK.’

“Yeah, so why’d you turn it back on after I yelled to cut if off?!”

“Because you again said ‘O.K.’”

“No I didn’t, and lying about it is just going to make it worse.” He was really out doing himself with his teasing this time.

“We swear dad,” Skunky said, “we heard you say ‘O.K.' after we turned off the water.”
He acted like he wasn’t convinced.

“Well, you two stay out here ‘til I figure out what to do with you.” Hmmm, sounded like we were going to get a special treat or something for helping him with the water fight.

Suddenly, from inside the motor home parked in the spot next to us, we heard that squeaky, high-pitched voice again say, “OK.” Seems our neighbors had a parrot that was very quick at learning new words.

Still, Mr. Wilson wasn’t totally convinced that we couldn’t tell the difference between his voice and a parrot’s. But he eventually calmed down and Skunky and I were allowed back inside the trailer . . . the next morning.