J and I were driving down a country road this weekend when I spotted the cutest little donkey in a field with a few goats. I yelled “STOP!” and J slammed on the brakes and looked at me. I said “I want to get a picture of that cute donkey!” And smiled the sweetest smile. He rolled his eyes and pulled into a small dirt road beside the field that held the critters.
I got out of the car and started taking pictures. Then the donkey and the goats spotted me and started running over. The donkey kicked the living shit out of a few goats, but I failed to get that on film because I was too busy grimacing.
They were real interested in me mostly because they thought I had food, so I snapped a few more pics while J sat in the car and ducked down everytime a car passed, not because we were trespassing, but because of embarassment. He played it cool though, and pretended he dropped something on the floor everytime a car went by. I continued snapping pics because, well, I have no shame.
Eventually the donkey and the goats lost interest in me once they figured out I was the bearer of no gifts. I continued snapping pictures, when movement caught my eye towards the woods. That’s when I spotted them. A
murderous pack flock of chickens heading straight for me.
For some reason this gave me the creeps. My first thought was that there might be a fighting rooster in there and it would spur the shit out of me. They kept coming with a determined
blood thirsty look about them. I started to back up towards the car, still taking pictures.They rushed up just as I decided it was a good time to leave, because I knew the electric fence around the other livestock meant nothing to them. Hell hath no fury like a territorial chicken.
After we left I asked J if we could stop at a little country store that I saw had a ‘feed corn for sale’ sign in the window. He asked if I was thirsty as he started applying the brakes. I said no, I wanted to get some feed corn and keep it in his car for when we spot livestock I want to take pictures of. He looked at me and accelerated. I took that as a “no”.
If they had had these when I was a kid I would have sold my brother to get one. I bet I would have gotten top dollar for him too from that creepy man that lived down the street that used to stand in his front yard with a weird smile on his face asking children to reach deep into his front pockets for his ”special candy”.
Greenpeace is having a whale naming competition for a whale they “adopted”. There are thirty names on the list. Most are names like greek Gods or foreign language words that translate to something cool. All but one.”Mister Splashy Pants”. Please click here and vote for “Mister Splashy Pants”. The last thing we need is another high- falootin’, snooty whale in our oceans. Thank you for your help.2 Comments