The theme around the barn this week has been hairstyles. For reasons I cannot fully explain, we have all suddenly taken a keen interest in modifying our appearances. With no opposable thumbs and no access to the better type of hair styling product, we have had to make do with nature's offerings.
Doc started us off by sticking his head in a burr bush and rotating it in a brisk circular motion. His forelock stood up in a conical fashion, the burrs worked in so thoroughly and tightly that the corners of his eyes were pulled up. Then, he worked some more burrs into his mane so that it stood up in points. Satisfied with his handiwork, he showed the results to us and then went off to impress the woman. She sighed and looked heavenward and then fetched the mane comb and spray bottle of hair detangler. Just as well, since Doc's scalp was beginning to itch fiercely and he was developing a migraine headache.
"La Molly" went next and focused on a leaf and twig bound together by mud theme. She felt she looked like a super model but in fact she strongly resembled a compost heap in both appearance and odour. The only one who dared voice that opinion was the woman who used every tool in the grooming box to get the worst of it off.
Jack went for an damp manure/ sand theme and emerged from a vigourous roll with the aura of a mud wrestler gone mad. He smelled even worse than Molly and had to dry out before the woman would approach close enough to begin the removal process. He was incensed that she misunderstood his hard work and said "huh, she don't even kno this heres a ancient health and beyooty treamint." He vows to repeat his "treatment" as soon as the elements allow.
As for myself, my new hairstyle was somewhat inadvertent. I was eating my hay as Jack worked on his gruel and somehow his bucket holder slid over against the partition. I thought I felt something soggy and warm landing on my person but only later realized it was patches of gruel. Jack offered to clean it off, though I fear his motive was fueled more by not wanting to waste any dinner rather than a desire for cleanliness. His cleanup consisted of washing it backwards against the lie of my coat, so that when the woman returned later, my hair was standing on end, held in place by a hard paste of saliva and gruel. Out came the grooming box...
Sally's new look is a secret to the woman but not to us. One of us is washing her from head to foot during the night, leaving her fur so fluffed up that she looks like a feline puffball. Sally is always back in her bed and the four of us standing innocently at the back of our rooms when the woman arrives, so the mystery continues to baffle her. She doesn't need to know everything.