It is both my prayer and belief that when Joe Mann, proprietor of Big Oaks Rescue Farm, left this earth on Tuesday, beneath a delicate crescent moon during a clear, glorious autumn morning, that he was met by every horse, pony, cow, and assorted livestock that he tried mightily to save but who instead were brought home by the divine physician.
It was with great anticipation that I set up the ‘critter cam’ (also known as a hunter’s trail camera) borrowed from my neighbor, Jay (because Paul didn’t get it for my birthday despite two months of hinting and hiring a sky writer), alongside my arena where, each morning, paw prints of various sizes and shapes indicate some sort of animal rave
Most people, I should think, monitor their recovery from a broken bone or sprain by noticing an increased strength or flexibility in their range of motion during perhaps a golf swing, knitting, or simply carrying a bag of groceries.
Someone once told me that when you see something that shocks you, and then your opinion is requested, simply state the obvious and no one will be offended.
Example: your boss shows up wearing a ridiculous suit and asks what you think of his turquoise checked, teal ensemble. You reply, “Now, that’s a suit!”
Coming home from a performance in Hendersonville, which should have, frankly, included combat pay for having to negotiate down the Saluda Grade at 10 p.m. with a line of big rigs snapping at my heels, I was astonished to see the glow of a cell phone in one driver’s hand as I was passed by one car, whipping ahead of me.
After a particularly busy morning, coupled with living amid the chaos of a bathroom demolition, I thought I might treat myself to lunch at our local joint. I’m not a meat eater, but there I can get the best Greek salad around, or alternatively, eggplant parmesan, if I don’t plan to do any heavy lifting for several days.
Listen, I don’t know if your appearances are tied to some sort of Halloween marketing ploy or if there was a convention called (that originated in the woods behind an apartment complex) that we weren’t aware of, but look, you’re freaking us out.
What’s worse, you’re embarrassing us.
Saturday morning our impossibly spry, 14 year old Rosie, asked to be let out for her usual routine of doing her business, followed by 20 minutes of ‘woofling’ at the woods, bouncing off her front paws at each bark, to let the world know she is up and reporting for duty, before reappearing, bright eyed (she only has one), and ready for breakfast.
Besides the plastic fan that I had won, a decade ago, at The Dollar Store, of which I wasn’t even allowed to claim for quite some time as I had filled out the raffle ticket with the name, ‘Pam Banana’ (long story, you have to read the book. Did I mention it’s still available on amazon.com? Never too early to begin your Christmas shopping!
