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Last summer Vicky and I worked at putting an electric wire around the horse pasture. Actually, she nailed in insulators and put up the wire, while I repaired fence and played with wiring the electric box.

There are two three four things I prefer not to mess with: auto mechanics, plumbing, electricity and work in general. Thus, my amateur status as an electrician is still intact.

Finding used wire for the job, I hook it up and turn it on. Well, not immediately . . . I ask Vicky if she wants to let go first. After all, she might get shocked, but I would be the one lying on the ground.

Connecting the power, there is a lot of popping. Some of the wire is bad and needs to be cut off. Doing so, I hook it up again and try it. Still popping. All the wire is bad. Not having other insulated wire, I rig temporary, non-insulated wire from the power source to the fence.

Now is the time I wish I had bought the electric wire tester. Vicky suggests I toss on a barn cat. Mean ol’ Vicky! I decide to touch it myself. Ouch. Yup, it works. I work my way around the fence with the same result. Success.

Before bed, I strip off my shirt and shoes and walk back out to the fence in my jeans carrying a glass of wine. Just because I want to, I touch the electric wire one more time.

One would assume I would have considered the fact I am not wearing shoes. Oooohhh noooooo!! OUCH! The voltage throws me back as I yell . . . plus I am now wearing my glass of wine.

Buy me books and buy me books and all I do is eat the covers.

Addendum: Two days later I come home and touch it again. Yup . . . still hurts. What can I say? I just cannot resist.