Everyone but me seems to understand the art of luxuriating. My friend Pants the Mule does it. The dog does it. The minimule does it. The goats and the little tigers do it (and how!). Now, with my swollen hock and a couple of weeks of forced R & R ahead, I think it's high time I learned to do it to.
Now, it's not that I don't lie down. I do. I lie down eight times a day to roll, and about once a month I stay down for a little sun bath. When FarmWife looks out the kitchen window and sees me in indulgent repose, she typically grabs the camera and sneaks out to the pasture. I am up long before she reaches me.
There are two things FarmWife has been desperate to capture on film—these are the sight of my pet cowbird (I have a cowbird, she's my own, she's with me most of the time from late spring to midsummer. Her husband walks on the ground beside us while she rides) and my sunbaths. My pet cowbird is hard to catch because I bray joyfully at the sight of FarmWife. My cowbird doesn't care for my singing voice, and usually flies away to quieter pastures after such a vocalization. My sunbaths are difficult to catch because they are rare and fleeting.
Now, under the advice of Dunewood O'Neil and in the proud tradition of Beasley the Wonderhorse, I am going to milk this hock injury for all it's worth. This has got to include some groaning, some apathetic sprawling, and some delay in standing at the approach of FarmWife. Also some hobbling about, but this level of theatric hysteria is beyond my skill level. I am a blogger, not an actor. I may be indulging in some exaggerated lounging, but I am above feigning a limp. I am FenBar, and I have never taken a lame step.
Yesterday, for the first time in a long time, I allowed FarmWife to approach me during a gravity-bound moment. It didn't hurt my pride, and it didn't take as much effort as will as one would have thought. It was actually just fine.
This napping-in-the-sun business could grow on a fellow! I think I'm going to try it again. Fetch hither a fruity drink with a little umbrella, please!
FenBar
fenway, your blogging never fails to bring a smile to my face. (as a stay at home mom, with three munchkins, sometimes it would be easier to cry. or sit in the corner sucking my own thumb...lol!) i thank you for a daily smile and sometimes laugh. rest up...you must get FW back out on the trail.
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I think you should take it easy on your hock for a wee while. You're only a youngster and these things will catch up with you in later years.
ReplyDeleteEnjoy the sunshine!
Good luck with the hock, Fenway. Looks like you're making the most of an unfavorable situation...
ReplyDeleteSylvia, FarmWife knows all about staying home with three munchkins. Her favorite cartoon . . . she'll have to scan and share it sometime . . . shows a disturbed female patient on a couch. The shrink states, "I believe you are suffering from what is known as full nest syndrome."
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Sharon, I plan to live another 98 years!
ReplyDeleteAnon., thanks. I guess being forced to graze the day away won't kill me!
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Fennie, I hope you get better fast.
ReplyDeleteFailing that, a top-shelf bourbon (Maker's Mark is my favorite) is nice with an ice cube and a sprig of mint.
Just sayin'.
now fenway, my dogs, especially the mini-dachshund, baxter-dogg, would agree that lazing in the sun is one of his favorite pasttimes. that, and throwing his rope ball for himself. Oh yes, and barking at kitty-pawz. you should check out my facebook page, and see pictures of all of my critters. :-)
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