So I followed Deb's directions to the feed store thingie out past Toys R Us. You wouldn't think a town this size would have so very many concrete gorillas. And yet.
Due to some confusion with an access road and a "DEAD END" sign -- apparently even if it's a half-mile away in a parking lot, it still counts as a dead end and is worth a sign -- I ended up heading east on the Interstate. My tiny tiny car likes the Interstate even less than I do, and the other folks on the road didn't like either of us much. So, two miles or so of me muttering, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" until the 56th Street exit came up. I considered visiting Aardvark Antiques just for the hell of it, then realized that I needed food rather badly and than an hour of looking at felt souvenir pennants and glass nesting hens wouldn't help the situation. So I headed down 56th to town, cursing my fate.
But then! A sign in front of what appeared at first glance to be an abandoned building, saying FARM TIRE SPECIAL THIS WEEKEND and PRE-ORDER BIRD SEED TODAY. Well hey.
So I pull in, and it's an honest to God store with doors and posted hours and everything.
Livestock salt is available in both bag and block form. Salt blocks are cubes a foot or so each way, with a hole in the middle, perhaps allowing them to fit in your Acme Livestock Salt Cube CaddyTM. Bags are, as you might suspect, bags. They weigh slightly less than a fully-grown Samoyed, but are nowhere near as pleasant to carry even if they don't wriggle. So I got a lot of "Can I help you carry that?" "Fuh...fine...thanks...*hurk*" as I worked my way toward the cashier.
Among other things, the store has plows, bib overalls, and live rabbits. The rabbits were perfectly charming black-and-white creatures with unbelievably soft fur, and could be had for the low low low price of $20 each. I pondered them for a lot longer than I really should have done, until one of them let loose a whiff of rodent pee, a scent I am really not prepared to deal with on a regular basis at this point in my life. Not in the house, anyway. So I and my salt left them adrift, gave the cashier a dollar-eighty (Plumber John Paul II was entirely correct about the cheapness of livestock salt), and retired to the car just before a major cardiac event could set in.
Then, continuing on the spiral path I'd started, I went to TRU and bought clearance doll furniture, and ate a nice burger at...uh...oh, that one place.
The salt is still in the trunk, because carrying it hurt me.
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