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Friday, July 15 2011

     When I was a kid, a repairman came to our house once. As my mother led him to the problem, she stepped in a doggy-doo. With each step forward, her flip-flops tossed dog poop onto the back of her bare leg. It was Mad Magazine Comedy at its finest, but my mother, trooper that she was, gave absolutely no indication that she was being peppered with a dog turd at every step. No! Like Winston Churchill, she proudly marched forward.

     Not a word was said about it. . .  at the time.    Years later we still fall over in laughter. But the point is, I was raised to put your best foot forward and march on. That's what makes this morning all the more embarrassing.

     I had just finished my barn chores and was on the phone with a goat friend who was regaling me with the comedy-drama of having a sheep get out of her truck while at a stop light. (Don't worry, Happy ending!) And that's when my adventure started . . .

Am absorbed in vicarious adventure of chasing sheep at a major traffic intersection, when all hell breaks loose in my front yard. Peek out front window.  Uh oh!  Water Well guy is here.  (Water well guy was supposed to be here three days ago.) Alrighty then!  Step into yard and call Big White Wet Dog who has cleared fence like a gazelle and is threatening Water Well Guy.


  (She jumps this fence with ease!)

Call dog.  Dog ignores me.  Call dog again.  Dog continues to ignore me.  Shout at Big White Dog. Dog continues to ignore me.  Scream like a Fishmonger's Wife.  Deaf Dog Ears.  Remind myself that Big White Dog is NOT a Border Collie and head across yard to retrieve her.

Problem: Current attire - gray gym shorts, baggy t-shirt, flip-flops, no bra.  Hair in pony tail. Have just finished milking goat. Goat milk is still between my fingers. Alfalfa hay is stuck to the sweat on my face. Dusty Hobbit feet. Neon white legs.  Yes, Friends and Neighbors, I am ready for the cover of People Magazine! 

     And here I am, desperate to get in the house and change before greeting these people and my Freakin' Big White Dawg won't come when she's called! So . . . I must slink out and get her.  At this point, the men are out of the truck and she has decided that they are her new best friends. I grab her and begin to haul her dumb ass to the house.  Briar puts on the brakes.  NO! New Friends are here!  I must now bend over and wrestle, in a baggy t-shirt, with no bra, a large wet dog who has absolutely no intention of leaving her new best friends.  I get her half way to the gate and she is learning how to back out of her collar.  Adjust grip. Plant Flip-Flop Feet deep in dust and continue to haul Beast across yard.  Am painfully aware of the picture I present.  (Again, not our finest hour!)

     FINALLY get Beast hauled to back gate.  Proceed to stuff her Big White Butt through gate. Must let go of Beast in order to lock gate behind me so Dogs Who Actually Bite do not stream out and get to main gate.  The Plan is to drag Beast onto back porch and lock her in a kennel.  That was The Plan.  What actually happened was that as soon as I let go of collar, Big White Beast launches herself like the Space Shuttle.  Over the fence she springs. She gallops back to the main gate, grinning at her New Friends. 

"She's friendly?"

"Yeah, but she's WET!"

"That's okay.  She'll be fine." 

And with that, they walk into the main gate and greet Briar!  I grab Blue Heeler who immediately launches into an apoplectic fit at the idea of trespassers behind the gate.  I then shuttle he and Black Wolf into kennel and the Border Collies into front yard.  (and put on a bra!)  I return to find that they have found the water well on their own and Briar, bored now, has already moved back to her rams.  WTF?!!

That's when I have a moment of self-examination. I breathe. I look down at my neon white legs, my dirty Hobbit Feet, and the goat milk between my fingers. And I realize that this is a "Flip-Flop-Doggy-Doo Moment."  I can choose to put a bucket over my head and slink off into the house, never coming into public again, or I can take a deep breath and face those men.

Let me know when it's safe to take the bucket off my head. . .

Posted by: forensicfarmgirl AT 12:58 pm   |  Permalink   |  4 Comments  |  Email
If you don't publish this stuff one day it would be a great pity. As I have said before "mental cartoon" is hystericaly funny. Re BWD been there can picture it to a tee. Still spluttering as I sit here braless working away.Just hope courier does'nt turn up. My trick used to be bright pink dressing gown for the morning paddock walk.
Posted by Liz on 07/15/2011 - 08:03 PM
now that i've stopped giggling, i was going to suggest you act like the whole thing never happened. i think that's the only workable strategy - 'nope, not me, you must be thinking of my evil twin sister..stuff like that happens to her all the time"! at least, when those particular workermen come back, act like you've never met them before! (assuming, of course, that Briar is secured safely somewhere, or sufficiently sedated.)
Posted by clairesmum on 07/15/2011 - 08:03 PM
" and was on the phone with a goat friend " ... Hahaha -- I was picturing a goat holding the phone with two front hooves and chatting to ya!
Posted by Terri's Pal on 07/16/2011 - 10:06 PM
Lol! I take care of a friend's place when they're on holidays. 3 BWD's,5 BC's, 70ish Sheep, horses, & cats) and last year the phone guy had to come fix phone. Shows up without calling. I was at work. When I got there, he was checking the outside of the house, 2 BWD's visiting, 2 BC's who weren't in lockup keeping their distance and eyeballing him furtively. The BC's wouldn't go near him until I was there... And I think were contemplating sneak attacks if he did anything threatening. I always figured the BC's, helpful as they are, would help a thief carry a tv out. Turns out, notsomuch. Your story sounds like a page out of the book of my life. At some point, you just gotta laugh. :)
Posted by Lindsay on 07/18/2011 - 10:38 AM

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