I Wake the Neighbors and the Dead With My Song
I woke to the wallow-noise of two musk oxen in the backyard. Oi, what!?! Get out of my yard! Just kidding, I bought them at the farmer's market yesterday. I like to pretend I don't know what they're doing out there. But I know.
I'm learning about my musk oxen, and they're learning about me. They demand much of me. For example, they seem to like when I sing patriotic songs, and they sometimes refuse to produce milk if I'm not singing with feeling. They're definitely happier when I'm all tarted up. I feel like a fool, milking my musk oxen in french hussy costume and stage make-up, belting "You're a Grand Old Flag" at the top of my lungs. I know I look good. I just feel silly - and cold. And I sometimes lose my footing.
My new musk oxen, Tracey and Paul Jr.
I'm learning about my musk oxen, and they're learning about me. They demand much of me. For example, they seem to like when I sing patriotic songs, and they sometimes refuse to produce milk if I'm not singing with feeling. They're definitely happier when I'm all tarted up. I feel like a fool, milking my musk oxen in french hussy costume and stage make-up, belting "You're a Grand Old Flag" at the top of my lungs. I know I look good. I just feel silly - and cold. And I sometimes lose my footing.
My new musk oxen, Tracey and Paul Jr.
2 Comments:
I just discovered that Fat Old Molly is scared senseless of the musk oxen. And it bothers her that Paul Jr. is female. She told me I should rename Paul Jr. "Betsy." I told her that "Tracey" can be a masculine name also. Then she told me to get out of her kitchen.
Nice oxen. How do they smell?
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