Thursday, May 19, 2005
Surprising to no one, the sun was out and I felt like an ant under a 6-year old’s magnifying glass. My knees were sore from rummaging in the weeds trying to find a rock-less place to perch and my hands kept cramping after hours of gripping and ripping weeds out of the rocky ground. In order to amuse myself I began pulling weeds in a warren around the small orchard I was cleaning out. Suddenly the weed height jumped up and I found myself in over my head (literally) amongst the weeds, hunkered down in the path I was creating. Off to my left I noticed small animal path matting down the weeds and my course veered off to join this fuzzy thoroughfare. No sooner had our paths joined than I found myself staring up through oozing sweat and heat waves at a pair of dark eyes set deeply into a furry little face. I froze while the trapped air amongst the weeds attempted to suffocate me.
I swear to god the little bastard began to grin. Tiny fangs definitely popped out and were followed shortly thereafter with a couple short exhalations of breath. My hand moved to the right and grasped a thumb-thick branch. The mongoose’s eyes darted off to my left then back to center. The rotten twig disintegrated in my hand as did the arrogant human superiority complex I’d been hoarding. Turning slowly I glanced behind me and was shocked to see two of the bastard checking out my rear. In a very friendly voice I queried the ring-leader in front of me as to their intentions, at which all three began slurking forward.
An amused frown crossed my face and I recollected a similar experience with marmots in Colorado. Only the mongeese were not dropping rocks on me from above, they wanted to taste my flesh (Or so I assume. They never answered my questions.)
An idea flashed into my brain pan and I enacted it immediately (without thinking it thru, of course): “Look over there,” I shouted while pointing off to my right! Moronically they looked, opening a window of escape. Bounding to my feet I made a mad dash for safety.
Here’s what I should have considered: after sitting on my feet, my knees and legs need a moment upon standing before full functionality. Not to mention that the farm is strewn with loose volcanic rock that is unsurpassed in excellence for twisting ankles and negating balance.
I made it 5 yards (all in one leap I suspect) before a rock slipped from under my foot coinciding perfectly with a collapse of my legs. Headlong I plunged back down into the weeds, stopping with my face a scant 6 inches from the talons of 6 doves. Thankfully, they didn’t use said talons. Instead they turned tail and poopered onto my face.
Growling aloud, my feet regained, and a stick in sight, off I scampered. My new weapon of choice proved sturdier than the last and I turned while waving it madly about, hoping to catch one of my tormentors across their brow.
No such look. There was no sign of them anywhere! Obviously, I began talking shite.
A twig snapped behind me and I whirled, stopping my swing in time to not strike my boss in the ribs.
An explanation began to trickle from my lips, but his face showed nothing but amusement. He’d heard the whole thing. Mongeese are hated in this house so my actions were deemed heroic, though my sanity has come into question.
But I live to fight another day. This ain’t over. And next time…..I’ll be ready.
As for making love-I'm all for that! But I have to admit that I am not desperate enough to consider loving a weasel...but talk to me in a month.