Well...she's here.

She's quite a bit smaller than your average Quarter Horse (Thank God). Her name is Daisy. She's sweet, gorgeous, seems smart and gets along with all the cats and both dogs. Matter of fact, she is able to get (90 lb.) Ziggy on his back and keep him there...(I said 'both dogs'...I mean both 'in-the-house' dogs. April hasn't been too involved, yet.)
No way is this chick pure Border collie, either. She's the right size, but, her hair is shorter, her body is a bit longer, her coat isn't the same as Uncle Henry's Border collies was and she has a bit of a Springer look to her. (Springer Spaniel, not Jerry...)
She's mostly black. White starts on her face, between her eyes. It goes under her chin, around her neck and down her belly. Her legs are mostly white with freckles. Her tail...ah, her tail. The other 'ain't exactly purebred' clue. It's all black, except the last 2 or 3 inches and it curls up over her back almost twice, it's so long.
She got here last night, around 9:00pm. She had an impressive dowry with her: bowls, toys, bones, food, paperwork...everything. She's really sweet and friendly. She sits in everybody's lap, licks your teeth if ya ain't careful and she's got the brightest eyes I've ever seen on a dog.
There is a possibility that Bill may have something to say about all this. I could care less....if I tried reeeaaaalllly hard. I, personally, am not going to listen to anything he says. When Ziggy first got here, Bill kept hinting around about us getting rid of April. Ain't happened, ain't gonna happen.
I'll give a crap what Bill has to say right after he 'gets rid of' the alcoholic nimrod with the shotgun over there, the Comacho kids who rip off everything they can around here, his own ugly, nasty lil sack o'shit that chases every car down the driveway every time, his kid Billy's dog, Amber, who comes here all the time just to fuck with my dogs, Billy himself and a few other things of that nature. Him do not want to get into a 'debate' wit' me about this. I will wear his ass out. And, I'll make him wash his own friggin' calf pens...
Which, by the way, is one of the things I'll be doing today. Washing a calf barn. Yes, washing a building with soapy water and rags. Hey, it's Bill we're talkin' about, here. He has one major life philosophy in common with Charles Manson-No sense makes sense. Gawd.
We're gearing up for the (@$$^&@!!*) school tours. A buncha screaming hordes of crumb snatchers running all over the place looking at cows and calves.
(Somebody crank up the "Electric Slide' and just shoot me in the face right now.)
Just what every working diary farm, that is also a mulch business with huge tree trucks coming in and out all day, needs. Little tiny people with even littler, tinier brains to be running around the driveway where all the big trucks, tractors and accident prone nitwits (like Bill) have to work. Sigh. It's a clusterfuck waitin' to happen. Stay tuned for the mayhem....
One last thing, before I go...
Ziggy is fuckin' goofy. A while ago, I was sitting here, sipping coffee, perusing a few blogs, when Ziggy came into the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him sit down and begin the not inconsiderable job of bending around to try to clean his own fat ass. As he's cleaning, I first heard, then turned saw him fart right into his own face. I almost pissed myself laughing at the look on his face. When he started the fart, his ears pricked up, his licking slowed down and he got this puzzled/grossed out look on his face. At the end of his mini-concert, he sat up, looked at me, then fell over on his side and groaned. I was dyin'!!! He was sooo busted. I'm just not sure if he fell over from gassin' himself or because he saw me lookin'.
Lord, men are goofy...human, animal...probably even alien.
Yeah, they're goofy, but I love 'em.

Oh...one more thing...if I thought for one second that somebody like Dax was going to be here with his kids for the farm tour, I'd be sooo 'all for it', I'd already be at the school, waiting to lead them here. Unfortunately...the people are not like Dax. They're more of those (asswipe) Abercrombie & Fitch shitheads. With little tiny carbon copies of themselves. Ick. I'd honestly rather have inner-city Philly kids here who may actually appreciate it instead of these little preppy shits who tiptoe around the 'unknown in their world substance' called DIRT. God forbid they should see a real cow turd. They'd probably all pass out en masse, or something.
(God...if You're not too busy, can You come hang out with me for a while? I think I'm gonna need You before this is over. Thanks...me)
Take care, peoples...
I'll be back later.
God willing.
Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 10:31 AM

Comments

1 One field that we go to for rockets is a cow pasture. I just tell the girls to get it over with and step in a cowpie, because it's embarrassing to watch them tip-toe around like drunken ballerina's.

Posted by: Ted at October 07, 2003 12:53 PM (ULW3r)

2 "God forbid they should see a real cow turd. They'd probably all pass out en masse, or something."

Ahahaha! I know exactly what you're talking about! I live right next to a farm, and there are about 2-3 more in the neighborhood (which is pretty big, for obvious reasons). I have to laugh at some of the people I know that complain about the smell. My response usually is: "Well, how'd ya like to live right by it?"

Posted by: Melissa at October 07, 2003 06:50 PM (raUX3)

3 I actually like the smell of a cow pasture. Reminds me of puppies.

Posted by: Tuning Spork at October 07, 2003 08:20 PM (iUSx7)






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