I'm not a genius and have no patience. I live on a big piece of ground surrounded by dangerous objects and possess little fear.
Remember me well, friends.
It's only a matter of time.
Last week, I found a break in the electric fence line that surrounds our upper horse pasture and for the third time in less than a year grabbed the two ends of the severed wire with the idea of tying it back together.
Yes, it was still electrified.
Yes, it was the third time I've done that.
Yes, my garage door now goes up all by itself each time I walk by.
Insanity, Franklin once said, is repeating the same mistake while expecting a different outcome. Even a lowly animal with the brain capacity of a mall-office divorce lawyer learns to stay away from "the bad string that burns" after getting jolts of volts twice over.
But not me.
The electric fence has beaten me three times in less than a year, but it still has a long way to go to catch up with lock-in hubs.
I've owned three trucks and countless other all-wheel- or four-wheel-drive vehicles. Most have had, as standard equipment, automatic hubs. I never had to leave the comfort of the truck cab to switch to four-wheel drive.
My current truck, an old Ford, has lock-in hubs.
Sometimes I remember that fact.
Every once in a while, I remember that fact.
OK. I almost never remember that fact. I can't get it through my thick skull. I can't tell you how many times I've been stuck on a muddy hillside, wondering why the front wheels aren't kicking in although the light on the dashboard says "4X4" in bright yellow.
Get out.
Lock 'em in.
Drive away.
It would be different, of course, if we lived in the suburbs. My antics would be in plain view. Out here, I've found, I can be as stupid as I like and nobody knows.
I was pondering that statement one day, while a couple of stories in the air, working on a sloped metal roof in a drizzling rain. After I dropped a pair of tin snips and watched them slide quickly away, I thought, "Wow. That sure looks slippery."
It was a good thing the muddy ground was there to break my fall without major injury. More importantly, no visible bones meant saving myself the embarrassing explanation.
"Well, doctor. You see? I'm stupid, and I live on this big piece of land with lots of dangerous things."
After checking to make sure all body parts were still attached and near to their original working order, I found my glasses, repositioned the ladder, picked up the tin snips and nearly climbed back up onto the roof. The only thing that saved me from repeating that mistake was noticing a break in the electric fence.
I walked over.
I reached out.
Remember me well.
It's only a matter of time.
To hear Scott Paulsen's column, visit www.observer-reporter.com. He can be heard each weekday afternoon from 3 to 7 p.m. on 1250 ESPN Radio.