So with this in mind here's how things once went down on one of our visits to E's parents in Montana...
We were actually on our way home - stopping to say goodbye to E's father who was working on the 'dry land'. As we drove up the dirt road, I spotted a huge flat-bed trailer hitched to two huge Percheron horses. Not just horses, by the way. Hank and Emma, to be sure. They looked something like this:
Gorgeous. So at this point E is telling me the horses' names - Hank and Emma - and how they must be getting old. They've been hauling the feed out to the cattle for ages apparently. Good ol' trusty Hank and Emma.
We chat a while with E's dad, a true rancher if I've seen one, and E asks what he's doing with Hank and Emma.
What he actually says is, "They're going to feed."
What I actually hear is, "They're going to BE feed."
Oh my, oh my, OH MYYYYYYY. I'm having horrible visions of a fate worse than glue. Think low-grade dog food here. Hank and Emma? Hank and Emma?!?! Becoming feed?!?! What?!? The only thing that kept me from curling up in a heap of despair right there on the spot was the realization that my father-in-law already thought I was beyond ridiculous. The only thing worse would have been a promotion to Ridiculous, Ninny Daughter-in-Law, Sobbing Hysterically in the Middle of the Pasture. But on the bright side, that would have been exceptionally funny, wouldn't it?
Anyway, I think I held it together until E and I climbed back in the car. I looked back in the rear-view mirror as we drove away at big, sweet Hank and Emma. They looked so gentle. Completely unaware of their sad, sad fate. I sniffed and snorted and sputtered some sort of pathetic drivel about poor Hank and Emma. Are all ranch animals doomed to a depressing end, I wailed? Haven't poor Hank and Emma done enough? Can't they live out their days grazing happily, tossing their manes about and swishing flies? Why, why, WHY???
E turned to me and very slowly said, "They're going to PULL the wagon, loaded WITH FEED....oh, and you're an idiot". (I added that last part for effect. E's too nice to say that out loud, but you know he was thinking it!)
Now as for Patches, The Sweet But Slightly Vulgar Ranch Dog ... we'll save that story for another day.
3 comments:
That is so funny! I had a similiar experience with Brad. On our first date we were discussing your family pets. He was telling me about "Ducky" and all the different dogs and cats, and somehow we ended up on different subjects. He was talking about Ducky when I thought he was talking about Tassie the dog. The only real specifics I remember (because I was so mortified) was he said, "Well, he got sick" (I was thinking about Tassie and I also thought Tassie was a boy)so I responded "oh I'm sorry, did you take him to the vet?" Brad looked at me surprised and said, "Why would we take him to the vet? I think my dad took him in the back yard and did it him self". (WHAT?!?) So I asked Brad how would your dad have done it(here is the best part) Brad said, "I think he cut his throat." (WHAT?!?) Luckily, I was so mortified I couldn't contain myself and said, "Your dad cut your dog's throat?" Things were clarified, and I no longer thought your family was psycho. :)
Julie - Brad was pretty young. He probably doesn't remember well. We think Tassie may have had something to do with Ducky's demise. Mom and Dad were out of town, so Granpa N "took care" of Ducky. I don't know exactly what that means, nor do I ever want to. I wonder if Duck a la Orange was on the menu that night?!
I SHALL LIKELY NEVER KNOW THE REAL STORY, LIKE SO MANY OTHERS THAT HAVE ONLY RECENTLY BEEN TOLD. HAD WE REALLY KNOWN WHAT WENT ON WHILE WE WERE AWAY YOU WOULD HAVE ALL KNOWN WHAT PERMANENT GROUNDING WAS AND THE PADDLE THAT NOW ADORNS THE WALL WOULD BE NOTHING BUT SPLINTERS
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