Monday, May 2, 2011
My Life Is A Zoo
I’m not sure how exactly to start this post, so I suppose posing a question might be the easiest way:
Have you ever been about to step in the shower (naked, as one tends to be who is about to get in the shower), when a goat walked into your bathroom?
This situation occurred tonight in my very own bathroom, about an hour ago. I live in a cabin with one roommate, Renee, and our yard houses Francisco the adorable (yet irritatingly poorly behaved at moments) puppy, and Frederick the broken-legged-teenage-goat. They aren’t usually allowed in the house, but Fred has a serious affinity for dog food and will bully Francisco for his food, so we bring Fred inside when we feed Francisco (alliteration!). Tonight I went to take a shower and Renee tried to distract Fred with grapes (he prefers them bitten in half) and by singing “All around the mulberry bush” while circling a table meant to keep him out of our bedroom. I typically shower with the door open because I don’t want another mold problem (when I first moved in I found what looked like pasta shells spilled behind the toilet and yelled to Anne and Josh (the other wwoofers here), “HEY, DID YOU GUYS SPILL PASTA WHILE ON THE TOILET?” Turns out they were fungus). So there I am, standing outside my shower, when Fred runs in, somehow escaping the game of “Mulberry Bush”, to say hello.
I will go on. We just acquired a hummingbird feeder, and immediately there were four regular visitors. They feed while we sit on the porch, while we watch from the kitchen table, while we stand directly beneath the feeder, while we're chasing the dog that's chasing the goat, they’re just constantly buzzing about, all over the area. It’s pretty magical, though I’m becoming a bit desensitized because every time I look out, there is at least one flying about. We keep getting nearly dive-bombed because they’re so aggressive towards one another and territorial about the feeder. This afternoon l looked out and there were three sitting on the feeder together. I don’t know if they were in some sort of poly-amorous relationship or just too tired to chase one another, but it was pretty cool. A little later I was heating up a tortilla and I look out the window to see Francisco tearing up and eating Renee’s bag of tobacco (excellent for dog-digestion. Just kidding, he didn't eat the tobacco, just the bag) I ran outside, grabbed all of the pieces, and by the time I got back inside with everything, my tortilla was burning and the house was filled with smoke.
Yesterday it snowed all day. We went on a hike, made soup (okay Renee made soup), tromped around in the mud doing chores. There’s a cholo wandering around trying to break into everyone’s houses (successfully a few times, apparently: Someone Stole Tom Holland's Shotgun- said in cowboy speak and you've got yourself a movie title), so Renee and I hide our computers in paper bags in a cabinet under the oven. There are paper cranes, paper boats, and paper throwing stars all over because Elias the nine-year-old little brother wanted to have boat races and Renee makes cranes. On Easter weekend, we had boat races in the pond and mine was winning (I know about currents, even in a still pond) until Elias started throwing mud clots at it, and then we declared blitzkrieg on everyone’s boats, sunk them, and recovered them the next day, dazed and washed ashore.
I just realized that I never wrote about the pilgrimage to the Santuario de Chimayo on Good Friday, along with the estimated 30,000 other people. That might need to be another time, this post is long and my shoulder hurts from being in a weird position to reach my computer, because I only pick up internet from one awkwardly angled corner of the kitchen table, smack up against the window. And only if Fred jumps up on the windowsill (which he did this morning).