Writer. Reader. Part-time hermit. Lol at my own one-liners. A lot. Blogging about whistling in the dark, writing for the void, living, loving, traveling the mists, and finding joy.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
The Violence of the Lambs
It's never what you expect.
That came to mind today as I resumed my quest. You know the one where I promised to kiss a baby lamb in exchange for a free book?A sweet little baby lamb, I can do that. I often hike a place that has fields of sheep. I live for a good quest. Let me just cut to the moral of the story right here and now. Sheep smell carries microscope airborne adhesive that will stick to both your lungs and skin. Nothing can remove it. You will smell like Eau de Sheep forever. Did you think the moral would involve a warning about rashly agreeing to go to first base with quadrupedal, ruminant mammals?Heck no. Life is short. Grab the bull by the horns. Seize the Day. Smooch the Lamb. Just don’t wear flip-flops when you chase it around the barnyard. (You can't catch it in flip-flops AND the ground is a tad - mucky BUT your photographer laughs a lot.)
Where does the scent of fresh cut grass take you?How about lilac?Or watermelon?Remember sitting in the backseat of a car with the windows rolled down, hot summer vinyl sticking to your thighs, a summer breeze blowing on your face?What does summer smell like to you?Fireworks?Skunk?Somebody’s grill?Did anybody in your car ever shout, “SHEEP FARM?”If they did, I bet you know this is the cue to cease breathing and get those windows up in nanoseconds. Faster even. Then go trade the car in, burn your clothes and move far away.
Had forgotten that childhood tidbit until today, when once again I resumed my quest. The lambs were out at last. I think there were about a hundred of them. They seem to arrive in pairs, and they are picturesque, sweet, fuzzy, white/black and you just want to pet them and give them a kiss. That’s how cute they really are. Good luck with that. Good luck with that, because electric fence/donkey/llama/Brother Pierre’s monkly mandate to keep outside the fence aside – this is what is waiting for you.
"Bring. It. On."
Oh, one little fella, despite his Mama’s warnings, wandered right over to the fence and let me pet him. I could have fulfilled my quest right then and there. It would have been quite easy to grab hold of that helpless little guy and kiss him right through the fence. I could not do it to him. I thought about it, briefly. I just could not be the one to make him lose all that newborn, innocent, misplaced trust in humanity. I scratched his ears and let him walk away.
The quest continues…
*No commandments were broken, and no sheep were molested during this quest. (But I did ruin another pair of flip-flops, and I still smell like sheep. There are probably reasons why writer's friends tend to consist almost exclusively of their imaginary ones.)