It is amazing how quickly times and lives can change in an instant. Things taken for granted disappear, smooth sailing turns into a hurricane. Something happened to me the other morning that hammered that home. Routine turned into a near disaster in one second. Getting in and out of my house is an obstacle course. It’s quite the feat to succeed without being mobbed. The dogie calves have escaped the barn and are now allowed to roam free as organic lawnmowers on the couple of acres that surround my house.
When you open the door, it should just be expected that you stand the chance of being accosted by either my lap dog, the goats, 17 bummer lambs (also miniature lawn mowers), a sneaky cat or the dogie calves. I know this. I prepare for this daily. I always open the door, take a sneak peek and run for it. Pretty smart, right? I mean it shouldn’t take an Einstein to lay plans to keep from being overwhelmed from point A to point B.
With the cooler mornings and the cat playing lord and master over the porch, I have abandoned drinking coffee on the porch. I switched to the east side of the house where I sit in the entryway, waiting to greet the morning. My mission is to capture a picture of the sunrise and prepare for my day.
Generally I read emails, or jot down notes and make lists of things to do. I sip my coffee and open the door every so often to look out and watch the sun’s progress. I’m minding my own business and I am sitting inside the house. It’s not like I’m trying to go anywhere, and its really early in the morning so all the furbabies should be sleeping.
Sneaky furbabies, especially 300 lb. dogie calves named Buttercup. Then everything changes.
I’m sitting in my chair getting ready to take a sip of coffee when BAM!, the door bursts open, the coffee goes flying, the chair tips over, and BOOM! I’m on the floor with a 300 lb. calf standing over me. There’s Buttercup completely proud of himself with a look that says, “Got ya! Good morning, mom.”
Several choice words later, I have collected myself from the floor and pushed the calf out the door. Then I lament about cleaning the spilled coffee and have yet to finish inspecting the broken chair.
Mentally I continue to cuss the little bugger as I retrieve the note I had been writing of things to do today. I add buy a bell for sneaky calf and on further inspection of the chair, also add buy new chair.
The dog LeRoy came by and gives me that look of I told you so. I cuss him just a little bit because where was he? What kind of watchdog lets this happen? He could have at least given me a little warning. He just gives that look again, the one telling me, “It’s your own fault. You told me I couldn’t bite him.”
As I continue to clean up the mess, Desmond the cat comes down the sidewalk, his only mission is to express his displeasure at being woken up. I tell him to scat it’s partially his fault for taking over my chair on the porch. At least on the porch, I can see Buttercup coming. Desmond yowls some more, cussing me in cat language. I finally tell him to go tell it to Buttercup. He must have decided that was a good idea so down the sidewalk he goes in a huff.
Buttercup surprise for breakfast. He better knock it off, he has made me so mad it’s not a bad idea; Buttercup surprise just might be breakfast if he keeps this up.
I can laugh about it now because a baby bull in the house is a funny image. But I’m also far more conscious of how a life, a community or a tradition can change so fast. It can be quiet like a refrigerator motor stopping, or it can be fast like a little bull charging through the door, but suddenly the time after is nothing like the time before.
Publisher’s Corner
"Jenni Fasselin"