Jan 24, 2014
Paul's 10 Reflections from the Past Week:
1. Llama’s in fact, do spit. Geoffrey’s and my hair, face and clothes were irrefutable evidence.
2. I don’t blame the llama though. I blame Katrina. It was SHE who told Geoffrey and I that the young stud llama needed to be separated from its mother. Unfortunately, they strongly disagreed.
3. Geoffrey and I cornered them and while he wrapped his arms around mama llama, I did the same to her son. Mama llama reacted by loudly moaning and scattering spit, which panicked the stud who began bucking and threw me to the ground.
4. The rodeo only grew wilder until Katrina, our resident llama whisperer, stepped in and calmed down mama llama and casually led her away.
5. Geoffrey and I, unsure whether we’d won or lost, retreated to the house where we could shower off the green and smelly llama lugys and tend to our bruises.
6. On a more somber note, later that night we suffered through one of the grim realities of farming. One of our beloved pregnant ewes unexpectedly died.
7. Thanks to Perfect-Neighbor-Mark (PNM) once again saving the day; he, Geoffrey and I were able to load the heavy animal into the trailer
8. (I’ll omit the story of my failed attempts to back the trailer to the barn, Geoffrey’s panicked yells as PNM watching in awkward silence (as well as shock, horror and embarrassment)).
9. We had received permission to leave it at our vet’s property…but at midnight, in the deep darkness and eerie silence, Geoffrey and I couldn’t help but feel like two gangster goons (I was Pretty Boy Floyd and Geoffrey was Baby-face Nelson) as we dumped the body, wrapped in sheets, into the weeds.
10. Then we climbed back into our bucket and fled the scene. I had to get home to my dame before the coppers showed up, fingered us for clipping an innocent animal, put us in bracelets and led us off to the big house!
1. Llama’s in fact, do spit. Geoffrey’s and my hair, face and clothes were irrefutable evidence.
2. I don’t blame the llama though. I blame Katrina. It was SHE who told Geoffrey and I that the young stud llama needed to be separated from its mother. Unfortunately, they strongly disagreed.
3. Geoffrey and I cornered them and while he wrapped his arms around mama llama, I did the same to her son. Mama llama reacted by loudly moaning and scattering spit, which panicked the stud who began bucking and threw me to the ground.
4. The rodeo only grew wilder until Katrina, our resident llama whisperer, stepped in and calmed down mama llama and casually led her away.
5. Geoffrey and I, unsure whether we’d won or lost, retreated to the house where we could shower off the green and smelly llama lugys and tend to our bruises.
6. On a more somber note, later that night we suffered through one of the grim realities of farming. One of our beloved pregnant ewes unexpectedly died.
7. Thanks to Perfect-Neighbor-Mark (PNM) once again saving the day; he, Geoffrey and I were able to load the heavy animal into the trailer
8. (I’ll omit the story of my failed attempts to back the trailer to the barn, Geoffrey’s panicked yells as PNM watching in awkward silence (as well as shock, horror and embarrassment)).
9. We had received permission to leave it at our vet’s property…but at midnight, in the deep darkness and eerie silence, Geoffrey and I couldn’t help but feel like two gangster goons (I was Pretty Boy Floyd and Geoffrey was Baby-face Nelson) as we dumped the body, wrapped in sheets, into the weeds.
10. Then we climbed back into our bucket and fled the scene. I had to get home to my dame before the coppers showed up, fingered us for clipping an innocent animal, put us in bracelets and led us off to the big house!
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