It was a normal Sunday, but quickly deviated from the normally
scheduled programming.
Each Sunday morning we make time for breakfast. We cook food that is
bad for us, but who can resist biscuits and gravy? Who can pass on
eggs and bacon? I can't and I won't. I may cut my intake, but I still
want it. It's comfort food. It's home.
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| Connor's pet rat, since passed. |
Because we take the time for breakfast, we listen to music and tell
jokes and enjoy being a family together. There's Connor, playing with
the rat, or eating his cereal or trying to make us laugh. Beck is
usually running around and pitching a fit about something. It's
controlled chaos and each of us plays our roles to a tee.
We live modestly, not so much as by choice, but out of necessity. It
sounds cheesy, but we really do have each other, and that is
comforting. We each know that we have a time and place to be a unit
and to play with each other.
Sunday morning breakfast is the best three hours of the week and it
is going to be a bad day if it is sullied at the start.
One bright sunny Sunday, it was the one before Memorial Day, we
decided while lying in bed that the breakfast menu would be biscuits
and gravy, eggs, bacon and orange juice. Some weeks we would just
have a cinnamon roll and juice or sometime a bowl of cereal; but this
morning we wanted to indulge ourselves in comfort food. We deserved
it.
My job for Sunday morning breakfast is co-chef. Some weeks, I'm the
primary cook and sometimes Robin is. Most of the time we work
together to prepare the meal. We make a good team.
There is music, usually rock and roll, playing so we can dance and
sing to it. That Sunday was no different. I made the biscuits using
the recipe off the Bisquick box; nothing fancy, but still delicious.
I got the pans ready, turned on the oven, got the eggs out of the
fridge, skillet out of the cupboard, mixed the eggs and milk in a
bowl with a fork, poured gravy mix into a pan of water – the mixes
that come out of an envelope are just fine, sometimes home made is
overrated, depending on whose home you are in.
The oven preheat timer went off and I opened the door to stick in the
raw biscuits, after which I would throw some bacon in the skillet.
Every thing was cooking along fine and the timing was looking to be
just right. The timer dinged and I opening the oven to pull out
golden brown biscuits. Except that they were in the same condition in
which I placed them. The oven was stone cold. It was broken and
didn't even turn on.
The day was shot from there.
No, really, it truly was all downhill from there, but sometimes if
you just hang in there, things will get better.
Instead of biscuits, we had toast. It was only OK.
After eating, we tried to get on with the other chores, one of which
was now figuring out what was wrong with the oven, so we could take
the afternoon together. That morning was different. I had some weeds
to trim and headed outside to the gasoline-powered trimmer. I don't
like it much and the next trimmer I get will be purchased for comfort
over price.
This thing I have is a smoke-belching annoyance, it vibrates too
much, it stinks and it gets hot.
It also does a great job whacking the weeds that can't be reached
with the mower, which was slated to be pulled out after finishing
with the trimmer. I never got to the mowing part.
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| Riley didn't look like much, but he could run |
The first inkling something was amiss was Riley, Robin's horse,
running through the front yard being chased by a donkey. They were
running fast and before I could turn off my machine and run into the
house to call Robin, then run back outside, the horse and donkey were
nowhere to be seen. We only knew that they headed north. Robin
quickly got some Old Timer's feed in a bucket, the horse's halter and
we split in the truck after I told Connor to watch his brother.
The great thoroughbred Secretariat ran 1 ¼ miles in less than two
minutes in his trip in the Kentucky Derby. That's more than 40 mph.
Pretty damn fast, and I think our 20 year old horse must have been
going double that, because we didn't see him anywhere. The donkey,
stupid beast that it was, had stopped to trouble some other horses
along the way.
Horses are funny creatures and if you've never lived with one, you
have never lived. It's like having a one-ton neurotic six year old
boy living in your back yard. The horse can be at times petulant and
demanding. Other times, he is fearful and skittish. Our horse was
fine with his neighbors , the chickens and the stray dogs that
wandered into his pen. Ducks may or may not be a different story, the
jury is still out on that.
But essentially the smaller animals are of no concern to the horse.
Humans are OK, although I think that every time he sees me, he comes
running at me to make me flinch. He usually succeeds, and in his
horsey way, I know he laughs at me as well.
However, he's got issues with other horses, donkeys and especially
cattle. He does not like cattle and when they come up close to our
property in the pasture across the road, the horse will be at the
fence, watching them suspiciously.
I see in his behavior a little arrogance. It's as if the livestock
world is their hierarchy, with horses on top. But like a lot of
people blinded by their arrogance, they aren't “all that.” Their
intelligence is high, but usually misdirected and most horses aren't
as smart as they think they are. And that arrogance gets them in
trouble.
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| Cows are always up to something |
It's no question that cows are the morons of the livestock classes –
they are easily led, big and fat, benign creatures whose only chores
in life seem to be to eat and crap. The natural enemy of the bovine?
Everything. It is at the bottom of the food chain; every predator
will hunt cattle – they are easy pickings. Because of this cattle
will act like...well...cattle.
Goats seem to be friends with horses, they get along just fine. I
honestly don't know where pigs fit in to the scheme of the things.
Donkeys I hadn't learned about until that day. There are several
donkeys in the cow pasture, which would indicate that they might be
in cahoots with the cattle. There also are several donkeys throughout
our large neighborhood. It's funny to hear them braying at each other
in some coded messages, or for no other reason that to hear their own
voices. Donkeys also are very stubborn; they don't accept their lot
in life with great aplomb. Horses, apparently, don't care for the
donkey's attitude problems and are easily intimidated by this
personality trait.
So a donkey showed up that Sunday morning and started to give our
horse the bit. Being a former show jumper, Riley easy took the fence
and ran and ran and ran.
Fortunately, we aren't the only ones to use the early weekend days
for chores, plenty of people saw where the horse went – up the
ridge to get lost in the juniper trees. After hours of searching,
Robin came home covered with tree sap, a few scratches and a limp.
She was leading the horse, who was in about the same shape.
We didn't get to a movie that Sunday, and I didn't get the property
mowed. Maybe it wasn't a total waste.
All I know is this: Never trust a donkey.
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