Monday, February 4, 2008

Rising From The Ashes

Yesterday was fairly reasonable in terms of weather (that is, it didn't cause physical pain to be outside). After a leisurely brunch inside, away from the barbaric mule, I emerged to sun myself against the side of the barn. The woman struggled out of the house, puffing, and dragging a variety of large boxes, some full of scrap lumber. I know what this means; we are going to have a fire. This is ALWAYS an exciting event.

The woman piles some of the material in a heap and then begins striking matches. Some four hundred matches later, a small flame manages to stay alive. The woman coughs and waves her arms and tries to avoid the smoke, which follows her whenever she moves. Personally, I enjoy inhaling smoke and edge up behind her until she steps back and falls over me. The others rummage through the unburnt pile and eventually the woman begins flailing her arms and yelling "getoutofhereyoumorons". We ignore her.

I stand as close to the flames as possible without actually spontaneously combusting. However, the best part comes as the fire dies down. When the fire has turned to embers, I wade in, pawing ,and creating lots of dust and smoke. And then - heaven. I drop to my knees and proceed to work the warmth into my entire body. It's similar to the compost, but much warmer. I must be careful to do this when the woman's guard is down or I get a lecture on fire safety. When I arise, I emit clouds of smoke and according to her, look like I've just stepped out of a volcano. A quick roll in the snow (or sand, depending on time of year) and I feel like a whole new donkey. She refers to the process as a Finnish sauna gone horribly wrong. Of course, I consider her an example of an experiment gone horribly wrong but am too polite to say so.

TJ climbed almost all the way into one of the large boxes and I prayed fervently that he would be tossed on the fire. Alas, my prayers went unanswered. With all the shavings that cling to him, I'm sure he'd go up like a torch.


Winnifred said...

Heh there my fellow 4-legged friends - the joys of life down on the little ol'farm:)

Sounds like you are keeping yourselves busy. I understand your mistress was at some sleigh-ride event a couple of weekends ago & was speaking to my mistress- unfortunately none of us were invited:( She came home chatting about all the friends & a visiting good time - hardly fair for us. Although sounds like the horses pulling the sleigh were e-nor-mous. Time for a walk to the barn to check the horses & I do not like to miss any walks outside - talk later. Winnifred

Ginger (Baker not Rogers) said...

I am incredulous at the blithe disregard for common fire safety practices at your place. Your ponymaid has taken leave of her senses. That said, the notion of a hot dust bath sounds delicious. We have no such thing here, though the chickens have one. We are particularly fascinated by poultry, especially Fred, who must relate to their tiny brains and lack of courage. The Fat Lady is constantly trudging into the chicken house carrying five-gallon buckets of aromatic food. I live in hope that she will stumble in the snow, allowing us to mob her and devour it.
As a result of her toiling in our stall, Fat Lady has been building a “tidy” pile of donkey droppings in the corner of the barnyard. She says we should add to it instead of practising our current broadcasting approach to manure. Insert motivational lecture about donkeys being tidy animals etc. etc. So every day, she piles more on. Every afternoon when the hay runs out we attack the pile, jumping, pawing and rolling until it is flattened. She doesn’t seem to notice that it never gets any bigger! Can’t wait til the snow goes!
But on to more pressing matters. Today is Super Tuesday and we wish you the best in the donkey primaries. Well, Fred doesn’t because he can’t understand the US election system. But then neither does Rick Mercer. I would like to assist you in your campaign but must confess that I am coloured. That is, I am brown, with rather fetching two-tone ears. Being brown does come in handy for concealing the guilty pleasure of rolling in the manure pile. So perhaps I should be working for the Obama campaign. He is not just brown – he is a hybrid. I suspect that Fred and I have a little something else mixed in. In Fred’s case, it would be chicken. In mine, something more impressive – perhaps mammoth.

robert5721 said...

Gale and I have both voted for you, so you are officially the donkey candidate for this election..don't see any other candidates, so you have it! Gale and I have some of those experiment things in our refrigerator, but I have not looked to see just how wrong they have gotten....OH WELL..
nice window in your runin picture, what is outside when you peek out?
Mr Gale

ponymaid said...

Winnifred, you said a mouthful. I simply don't understand why we are excluded from human social events. After all, we are social creatures too, and frankly, are better at mixing and mingling with the masses. You never see animals becoming intoxicated and falling off sleighs or into bonfires.

Ginger, I'm glad you broached the issue of colour. I am very much the alternative candidate, owing to the fact that I am the only one who is predominantly grey, with some Obama-like black points. All this blather about black and white, when in fact anyone sensible knows that life is mainly a grey area.

Mr. Gale, I thank you and Gale for your support in this stressful electoral time. I should be in California for this Super Tuesday event but the woman is notoriously cheap and won't pay my fare, so I must campaign from my run-in. The idiot humans put the window so high that a donkey can't see out. According to Doc, you can see the door of the house, which is how he can be at the gate begging two nano-seconds after the woman emerges. AND, the windows are vinyl, which is useless as whittling material.