No, that's not Farmer H. I can see how you might be mistaken. That's actually the south end of the north-facing horse-donkey that now lives across the road from the Mansion. When I stopped to take his picture as I returned home from the ill-fated hamburger-buying excursion, Mr. Horse-Donkey was standing sideways, looking right at me, his oversize ears pointed forward with curiosity. I could only assume he was posing for a picture. The minute I got my phone camera ready to steal his soul, he headed off to make an ass-photographer of me.
I almost got a good shot of him as I took off toward town.
Of course, as Hillbilly Mom luck would have it, Mr. Horse-Donkey's face was obscured by a dastardly cat footprint on my windshield. That darn cat! Or that other darn cat! Or the other darn cat! Or...never mind. That fourth cat cannot heft his ever-increasing girth onto the hood of T-Hoe to climb up the windshield and leave muddy footprints.
In other news, Mr. Man-Donkey may have learned a lesson last night. Today, as he was gathering Christmas decorations from the yard at 11:30, after telling The Pony he was supposed to help with that task at 1:00 or 2:00...I went out by the garage and asked if he would like a chicken sandwich for lunch. And do you know what he said? "I would like a chicken sandwich."
Tough love, people. Sometimes it takes tough love. A no-nonsense example of how actions have consequences.
4 comments:
This is your brain. This is your brain without a hamburger.
Apparently Farmer H learned one CAN lead a horse (or a man-donkey) to the river of good sense and--faced with drinking or starving--the man-donkey CAN be forced to drink.
I also have that luck. It's like they know what I am planning. If I want a picture of one of my animals I have to sneak up on them. But they seem to always catch on to what I am doing. I always end up with a picture of them Walking away.
That is when you should have pointed at one of his chickens, smiled and then walked back into the house.
Sioux,
I asked if he wanted some lettuce and mayonnaise on his chicken sandwich. No...but he'd like some mustard. I told him he could get that for himself, because I didn't know how much. Seriously! Who puts mustard on a chicken sandwich?
Farmer H went without the mustard. I guess it was too much trouble to add it himself.
*****
Michelle,
Yeah, I thought it was just my sweet, sweet Juno who dashed about so quickly that I could not capture her on camera. No. It's every animal I try to focus.
You need to slither like the Grinch did under little Cindy Lou Who's Christmas tree.
*****
knancy,
Yikes! This is not a horror movie! Besides, Farmer H is always offering one of his 2,184 roosters for the cook pot.
"He'd make a good pot of chicken and dumplings." Um, no. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom would be the one making the pot of chicken and dumplings, and plucking that rooster. No thanks.
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