It's amazing how much French I've forgotten since college yet at the same time it's surprising how much I recall. I would not be helpless in France. Or Quebec, for that matter, which is kind of reassuring. Except
tout les monde would have to speak very sloooowwwly for me.
Besides English and slowly spoken French, I also speak dog and cat and possibly some peacock. The first two are rather useful. When my dog Fudge
(aka The Fudgester, Fudgie or Speed Brick) barks and turns in a circle he's either thrilled I'm home, begging for a snack or needs to go outside.
If my cat Jasper (aka Jazzman or Devil Cat) knocks stuff off shelves he's either hungry and there's no food, someone has not cleaned the kitty litter or he's retaliating for some slight. Like I didn't let him out to
cherchez les femmes or something. (Actually, he's had the operation, you know, and he isn't allowed outside because cats are, I am sorry to say, eliminating ground nesting birds at an alarming rate. Indeed, in the county where I live, Meadowlarks are now rare.) But sometimes he glares at me before he does something evil or even just because. Then at night he sleeps under the covers against my stomach and all is forgiven. He also MUST be in the same room I am. He's 17 now and slowing down a bit.
When the peacock imitates a child in distress it means he's lonely and is hoping some hot feathered babe will pay him a call. The picture, by the way, is of Angus. He just showed up one day and hung around for the good company I guess.
He actually did have some girlfriends for a while, until we noticed the result was more peafowl. Then we ran around like um, idiots, trying to catch baby peafowl and give them away. Lots of takers!
This is Thirsty. She was a bummer lamb, meaning her mother wouldn't take her for whatever reason and so lived in our kitchen and/or utility room until we were sure should would live. Then she lived on the deck for a while and then when she was strong enough and big enough, out into the field. For such a sick lamb at the start she was often very Thirsty.
Thirsty is now the Alpha Ewe. That's usually the one smart enough to know who's passing out the good food and when so she's always first in line and the other sheep follow like, er, sheep, in case there's leftovers. Her primary word is, no surprise,
Baaa. When she was still bottle-fed she would run up and down the fence bleating about being thirsty.
Lastly, this is Mel The Rooster. He is mean. Which you can probably tell if you study the picture a bit.
Whoever's getting the eggs better watch their feet, because he pecks. You better believe he was thinking about pecking my feet when I took that picture. But I'm faster than I look and my camera has a telephoto lens. He has a lot of girlfriends who provide eggs.
So, now you've met some of the menagerie where I live. Do you have a menagerie of your own or maybe just a pet or two? Tell me about one or some in the comments and I'll send one commenter a signed copy of
My Wicked Enemy. Amusing gets points. You could lie if you want, or talk about the pony you wanted but never got. Comment away! Please.
