 Last week, my husband and I viewed the weekend with dread. We knew
there was plenty of work that needed to be done around the house; we
simply didn't want to do it. We also knew that if we stayed home and
tried to relax, we'd eventually find ourselves hip-deep in sawdust
and cleaning supplies. This would include at least one trip to the
home improvement store, which would, in all likelihood, remind us of
another task that needed to be scheduled for the next weekend. We're
dumb that way.We decided to escape our work rut and plan a reason
not to work. Our reason was a two-hour drive to an animal ranch.
This one had free-range animals from every continent.
Ranch hands loaded everyone onto a big wooden trailer that they
called a hay wagon. I looked, but there was not a speck of hay on
that wagon. If they would lie to you about that ...
We stepped onto the back of this hay wagon and made our way to
the front. Because we were the first riders on the wagon, we got a
front-row view of the back end of three humongous horses that would
pull our wagon. I hoped they had used the little horsies' room
before we had gotten on the wagon. We were soon to realize that, not
only hadn't they gone before, but they had apparently crossed their
legs for the last three days in anticipation of our arrival.
The guide pointed to buckets of feed under our seats and told us
that the two-legged creatures could eat out of the bucket, but the
four-legged ones would try to take the bucket. He said we should
feed those with our open hand. After the horses' rudeness, I would
be glad to be seeing the other end of an animal.
At our first stop, a bison, two ostriches and 400 pigs ambled up
to our wagon. We found that there is strategy involved in feeding
animals that have not been properly trained in the art of sharing.
If I held the bucket out for the ostriches, the bison would try
to knock it out of my hand. However, there was no way my hand was
going anywhere near that bison's gaping maw.
So, I found myself holding the bucket tight against my chest,
letting the ostriches feed frighteningly close to integral parts of
my anatomy, while at the same time dropping a handful of feed into
the bison abyss.
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 In this way, I distracted these creatures while my daughter tried
to drop handfuls of feed down to the "poor piggies" on the ground,
which looked more than well-fed to me ... and nimble as well.
As I watched, they did a kind of porcine polka, deftly avoiding
the legs of the bison and ostriches.
Our next stop revealed a couple of eager-looking yaks with the
table manners of a ... um ... yak, I guess. These beasts opened
their mouth, stuck out a downright revolting tongue and insisted
with said mouth and tongue to be fed ... immediately. We were all
too happy to oblige after we were nearly rendered unconscious by
their truly offensive breath. What I would have given for a couple
of giant Tic Tacs!
The next spectacle was a herd of European fallow deer.
Smack-dab in the middle of the herd was a huge white bovine with
an obvious identity crisis. The guide called it a steer, which could
have been the reason for its confusion (steer, deer; it could be
easily confused). The steer probably thought the guide had a speech
impediment.
The proud bovine had apparently appointed himself the leader of
the deer herd. They moved as a group toward the wagon. The deer were
dainty eaters, but the enormous steer opened his impressive orifice,
and out spilled a tongue the size of a two-by-four.
Ladies and gentlemen, I tried to stay composed, but when a moray
eel emerges from the mouth of a colossal cow, composure is redefined
as how fast you can get to the other side of the hay wagon without
trampling your children. If there had been hay on that wagon, the
beast's tongue would have been lassoing hay bales, not chasing me
around for my bucket.
That cow with its huge oral appendage reminded me that we could
have been at home, cleaning our gutters. If we had that animal,
along with his tongue and a bucket of feed, the gutters would have
been done in no time at all.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist,
author and speaker. You can reach her at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more info.
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