Picture this. A small grey donkey, on an icy grey day, staring into the grey distance, chewing thoughtfully on some insufficient forage. The snow is accumulating, the winter looming long and cold before him. He sighs and retreats to warm thoughts of spring fund raisers and days of lying on the hot sand, baking himself to perfection.
Suddenly, a hideous visage appears not two inches from his and a terrible screeching assaults his sensitive ears: "I WANT A HIPPOPOTAMUS FOR CHRISTMAS...ONLY A HIPPOPOTAMUS WILL DOOOOOOOO..." After the initial shock, I fled into the trees, the odious lyrics and caterwauling still ringing through hill and dale. "I DON'T WANT RHINOCEROSES, ALL I WANT'S A HIPPOPOTAMUS". Why? Why would she want a large, river-dwelling denizen of darkest Africa to appear under the festive tree? Why? And why the prejudice against the perfectly inoffensive rhinoceros? It made absolutely no sense, even by her standards.
"That's it",I said to Jack, "the apocalypse is upon us, the harpies are announcing it's immenent arrival. Save yourself if you can." He gave me a strange look and carried on eating. The Woman herself looked somewhat surprised and had the good grace to wonder out loud how the frightful verses had become lodged in her tiny brain. I can only conclude that it is a result of listening to the all-Christmas-all-the-time station on the radio box. She promised not do it again but no more than five minutes later was warbling "Saaaaaanta Claus is comin ta townnnnn"along with some faceless entity called "The Boss". She is posessed. I recommend her immediate removal to what Jack calls "the loony bin". They have the training and skills to deal with this sort of thing.
I don't know. The season is just beginning and my nerves are already in tatters. Next comes the seasonal headgear and red bows everywhere. Then there is the terrible fight with the tree that they insist on dragging into the house. My only faint hope is that the male human remembers our bucket of Stud Muffins. These are hard times indeed, my friends, hard times.
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2 comments:
Sheaffer, as I read your opening paragraph, I felt I was reading a classic novel, in the vein of Bleak House, or perhaps from the perspective of a Bronte's younger brother, had there been one.
And then I got to the paragraph about the singing and your startlement, and I was rendered speechless, because all of a sudden, this past week or so, both R&R are taking great offense at nearly everything I am wearing.
They stare at me as if I have been dragged up from a black lagoon or something, eyes wide, and then they dash away. When I take off all the outerwear, to the point that I am shivering, they recognize me and all is well.
What is this? Some new donkey developmental stage?
Perhaps it is the seasonal insanity you are experiencing. I am not sure what in the world is going on. In any case, we wish you peace. I know you are entering the part of year you most dread - we send warm thoughts your way. (and they are truly only thoughts, as we are having an uncharacteristic for this time of year cold spell here)
Billie, it's very much Bleak Barn around here at this time of year. I do feel like Sheaffer Bronte these days...but these moors are considerably more frozen, with no hint of Regency romance. We donkeys are hypersensitive souls and don't take well to sudden changes of attire on our loved ones. Don't take it personally - best thing to do is stay in your summer garb year round. And I know you would never sneak up on a donkey whilst wearing one of those fake fur, ear-flapped affairs on your head - it could cause permanent psychological damage. I know this from personal experience.
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