The Mormons showed up yesterday evening. I should have seen it coming, after talking to Larry J on the phone. (Or maybe... gasp! They really DO read my blog!) A woman called from down by my farm gate, asking me to come out and let her in. It was about seven and I'd just called it a day with my school stuff. I had to jump into respecto clothes, out of my boxers and tank, into something with sleeves, into long pants, and go out. I knew she'd want to come in and I knew I didn't want that. The house looks like shit, all shabby and cheap crap, steaming hot, the couch covered in a blanket to keep Camus' floating flurries of white hair off of it. (Note to self: Your favorite clothing color is black, right? What the hell's up with all these damn white dogs? Are you insane???)
I walked out, wading through goats and geese certain that my presence meant food. I took Camus with me because he's kind of impressive and yet doesn't bite. (In contrast to my other much less impressive but bitey canines.) I was thinking I could just talk with the woman on the other side of the gate, by her car, but she waved at me to open the gate and when I did drove through. She parked, peered at the animals through her window and I could tell this was going to be a problem. I mean, more of a problem than the Mormon church "visiting" me unannounced, uninvited, unexpected.
You know how there are animal people and then there are people who are not animal people? Yeah. If you come out here, you don't necessarily have to like animals (in fact, you may arriving liking them and leave in a different frame of mind...), but you probably should know how to enforce your space around them. Not, as I sit here and consider this, that I know how you should do that with goats. Unless you have a stick. Because without a stick, Lucy and the newly neutered goat Lucifer, are all over you. Not in a mean way, I mean, they're not trying to hurt you, but they're very intrusive and they really, really want you to pet them, and pet them more, and pet them again.
Anyway she got out warily and started heading for the ramp leading up to the trailer door, and in my head I'm all, fuck-fuck-fuck! The chihuahuas were hysterically barking, up on the back of the couch looking out the window, barking in that horribly annoying way that chihuahuas have. And outside, Camus was trying to sniff the poor woman, the geese were honking like crazy, the goats were tripping her, the guinea fowl was screaming, and the hens were frantically trying to gather all their chicks to them. It was insane. From inside I could hear Sierra's wacky American Eskimo dog Bat start in with her high-pitched, crazy barking and I know that Bat definitely bites. It was very, very loud. It should have been very obvious that no one ever, ever, ever comes around here. The chihuahuas were throwing themselves, all spittle-faced at the window and I thought, 'She really wants to come in?' I said, shouting over the cacophony, "There are dogs inside, maybe we can talk out here?" And she said it's hot and she needs to sit down and so we went to my chicken-watching chair in the shade (not that shade has much meaning in this heat). And this entry is getting too long so short-story-shorter, she tried to offer a prayer and the goats kept nibbling on her purse, and she tried to talk to me but I could tell she was uncomfortable. And when I pulled the goat away the goat got mad and started fighting with Camus and Camus always thinks the goat is playing when in reality I think the goat is really trying to hurt him, and perhaps if you're not used to the spectacle my kids and I always find relatively engrossing, the spectacle of a black goat standing up on his hind legs, tilting to the right and then launching himself horns-first at a dog who romps in circles around him, perhaps it's, idk, worrisome. Goats apparently never give up, and Lucifer will continue his assault against the dog until the dog gets too hot and wanders off for water (then Lucifer will sneeze and snort and butt the trees in victory for a while before lying down with his beloved Lucy and finding his cud).
So she's trying to talk to me and the goat's making her nervous and then we see that the little goat, Rosalie's very rambunctious buck kid, is up on the roof of her car, galloping back and forth, jumping down, leaping back up, delighted to have a new car to jump up on. And she says, "There's a lamb on my car..." and that was pretty much the end of the visit. And I closed the gate after her, already soaked in sweat in my respecto clothes, and I was torn between feeling like the worst.hostess.EVER and feeling kind of defensive, like, well, the visit was unannounced, she'd just dropped by, and this is what happens.
But it put me in an even worse mood. And I'd already been in a bad mood. And I wonder why I bowed my head and amen'ed when she asked me to join her in a prayer. I wonder why I didn't just politely refuse or politely say I was an atheist or, I don't know, something.
I'm still in a very bad mood. I don't know why, exactly. I guess I better just get on with my studying, the stuff I need to do, and stay busy.
I walked out, wading through goats and geese certain that my presence meant food. I took Camus with me because he's kind of impressive and yet doesn't bite. (In contrast to my other much less impressive but bitey canines.) I was thinking I could just talk with the woman on the other side of the gate, by her car, but she waved at me to open the gate and when I did drove through. She parked, peered at the animals through her window and I could tell this was going to be a problem. I mean, more of a problem than the Mormon church "visiting" me unannounced, uninvited, unexpected.
You know how there are animal people and then there are people who are not animal people? Yeah. If you come out here, you don't necessarily have to like animals (in fact, you may arriving liking them and leave in a different frame of mind...), but you probably should know how to enforce your space around them. Not, as I sit here and consider this, that I know how you should do that with goats. Unless you have a stick. Because without a stick, Lucy and the newly neutered goat Lucifer, are all over you. Not in a mean way, I mean, they're not trying to hurt you, but they're very intrusive and they really, really want you to pet them, and pet them more, and pet them again.
Anyway she got out warily and started heading for the ramp leading up to the trailer door, and in my head I'm all, fuck-fuck-fuck! The chihuahuas were hysterically barking, up on the back of the couch looking out the window, barking in that horribly annoying way that chihuahuas have. And outside, Camus was trying to sniff the poor woman, the geese were honking like crazy, the goats were tripping her, the guinea fowl was screaming, and the hens were frantically trying to gather all their chicks to them. It was insane. From inside I could hear Sierra's wacky American Eskimo dog Bat start in with her high-pitched, crazy barking and I know that Bat definitely bites. It was very, very loud. It should have been very obvious that no one ever, ever, ever comes around here. The chihuahuas were throwing themselves, all spittle-faced at the window and I thought, 'She really wants to come in?' I said, shouting over the cacophony, "There are dogs inside, maybe we can talk out here?" And she said it's hot and she needs to sit down and so we went to my chicken-watching chair in the shade (not that shade has much meaning in this heat). And this entry is getting too long so short-story-shorter, she tried to offer a prayer and the goats kept nibbling on her purse, and she tried to talk to me but I could tell she was uncomfortable. And when I pulled the goat away the goat got mad and started fighting with Camus and Camus always thinks the goat is playing when in reality I think the goat is really trying to hurt him, and perhaps if you're not used to the spectacle my kids and I always find relatively engrossing, the spectacle of a black goat standing up on his hind legs, tilting to the right and then launching himself horns-first at a dog who romps in circles around him, perhaps it's, idk, worrisome. Goats apparently never give up, and Lucifer will continue his assault against the dog until the dog gets too hot and wanders off for water (then Lucifer will sneeze and snort and butt the trees in victory for a while before lying down with his beloved Lucy and finding his cud).
So she's trying to talk to me and the goat's making her nervous and then we see that the little goat, Rosalie's very rambunctious buck kid, is up on the roof of her car, galloping back and forth, jumping down, leaping back up, delighted to have a new car to jump up on. And she says, "There's a lamb on my car..." and that was pretty much the end of the visit. And I closed the gate after her, already soaked in sweat in my respecto clothes, and I was torn between feeling like the worst.hostess.EVER and feeling kind of defensive, like, well, the visit was unannounced, she'd just dropped by, and this is what happens.
But it put me in an even worse mood. And I'd already been in a bad mood. And I wonder why I bowed my head and amen'ed when she asked me to join her in a prayer. I wonder why I didn't just politely refuse or politely say I was an atheist or, I don't know, something.
I'm still in a very bad mood. I don't know why, exactly. I guess I better just get on with my studying, the stuff I need to do, and stay busy.
You know, I have to say, there was something kind of funny about her reaction to the little goat posed up on the roof of her car. It was kind of funny. Who really expects to find goats on top of their car? If I were in a better mood, this story would seem funnier...
And am I the lamest blogger EVER? Being the sole commenter on my own entries... Lame, lame, lame.
No longer sole commenter... but, I wonder if you are kidding or if you actually allowed this person to make you bow down to the "almighty" and go along with her theme.... I sure hope you found the humor in the goat on the car and thought about how disturbed the house dogs were and that you just hold onto yourself and not let anyone MAKE you do anything in a situation when you can choose to opt out. Life often has too few choices.
Your post about the entire animal kingdom turning up to rout the
M*r**ns, combined with your (rightfully) nominating yourself for a
Friend of the Turtles award are both pretty tough acts to follow,
with regard to attaching a comment to them. And those two follow
very closely on the classification of the Republican Party as a
sexually transmissable disease.
Don't judge us too harshly. It's been a wild ride this last week.
I strive to provide the wild ride.
...I mean, blog-wise, of course.