Posted on | December 6, 2013 | 6 Comments
We all have a role to play. No one’s contribution can be underestimated.
Last weekend, someone around here forgot their role and I refuse to be held responsible for it.
After all, everyone knows I am the animal hoarder manager and it is my job to snatch up the adorable…
and the ridiculously ugly.
and the sickly.
and the orphaned.
And, of course, the free…
…and merge them all into this productive and profitable enterprise called a farm. By profitable, I mean,…um,…huh. What does profitable mean? More eggs than you can eat (except in the winter)?
More wool than you can spin (if you knew how to spin)?
Enough milk to drink and make cheese (except when the pigs are hogging the extra milk)?
Lots of does to sell in the spring (unless they’re all bucks)?
Tons of swiss chard (which only 1 kid will eat)?
Eh. Perhaps we should just stick to productive. I think profitable might require more selling and less animal snatching. Or receipts and bookkeeping. Receipts! Bookkeeping! (shudder)
In any case, if my role is bringing in the animals, then The Other Half’s job is to help usher them out. By butcher knife, by craigslist, or by flea market, he’s not afraid to cut back on the dependents he’s feeding around here. And he is not easily swayed by cuteness. (One of his most admirable traits. Cute doesn’t last forever, you know. Not that I’m worried about losing my cute. Because I’m not. Not at all. Ever.)
The Other Half is most happy when he comes home to fewer faces in the barnyard and has to make fewer trips to the feed mill. He’s more of a “rationed” hay than “free access” sort of guy. And he is most supportive when I am thinking of selling or trading some of the livestock. As long it’s not a trade for something else that eats grain. Or another miniature horse. I don’t think he was impressed with the trade for the miniature horse. Eh.
So I was sure when we called him on a late Sunday afternoon I could rely on him to say “No.” As a matter of fact, that’s the only reason we called. I never call if I really want something. If I really want something, I’ve found that it’s better just to go ahead and get it. And spend the hours before The Other Half gets home from work formulating arguments in support of my actions. Or putting on makeup and a tight outfit. That’s how a successful marriage works. Duh.
I called because I was undecided. On the fence. Leaning towards “This is probably a bad idea.” Plus, I thought I was being unduly influenced by the kids. Who were jumping around begging and pleading and making all sorts of arguments for “Yes.”
Confident that the whole thing could be put behind us with a quick telephone call, I dialed The Other Half at work.
“I guess we should should see what Daddy thinks about this. We’ll let him decide, ” I told the kids.
They quieted. This was very new behavior for me. Calling to ask for permission???!!! They peered at me closely. Was I sick? They glanced at my coffee cup and looked around to see if the bottle of American Honey was on the counter. Was I drunk? On a Sunday??? They glanced at our Elf on the Shelf. Was I worried about Santa Claus?
As soon as The Other Half answered the phone he said, “Hey. What did you find at the flea market?”
Amazing. We’re like mindlink or something.
“Well,” I said, “first of all, some very good tamales. Which is what we went for. That’s all we were going to get. We didn’t plan on getting anything else. Nothing. Just those tamales. The good ones. With spicy chicken. The ones where the masa isn’t too mushy. You know.”
He was silent. Waiting.
Then I told him what else we found. And that we didn’t get it yet.
“So,” I said, “the kids and I were just wondering what you thought. Probably a bad idea, huh?”
“I’m not opposed to it, ” he answered. Wha???
“We were going to get another one in the next year or so anyway,” he continued. “If you found a good one now, then it’s probably fine.”
I was quiet. I listened fro sneezing. Was he sick? I wondered what he was doing. Was he drunk? At work??? I thought about how close we were to the holidays. Was he completely out of ideas as to what to get me for Christmas?
We discussed it a bit more and then I hung up the phone, stunned. The kids danced around me joyfully. But I figured it wasn’t a done deal yet.
“It’s already 2pm,” I reminded them as we got back into the car. “The seller might be gone already. Or he might not be willing to accept the price that Daddy and I agreed upon. Or they might all be sold by now. Also, I haven’t used my new ATM card yet and I’m not sure if it works.”
Perhaps the Universe wanted to say “No.”
But The ATM card worked. The seller was still there. They weren’t sold out. And the seller, reluctantly, agreed to our price.
It was like living in The World of YES.
So I can’t be held responsible for the new arrival. No, I can’t. I place this addition to the feed bill (…and the vet bill…and the cost of accessories) squarely on the shoulders of The Other Half. And the kids. And the Universe. Not me, people. Not this time.
In any case, welcome to Bella.
Bruno’s new assistant and livestock-guardian-in-training.
In the interest of proper socialization, we are scheduling puppy visitations at this time. In between puppy naps, of course.
Get your puppy love on!