Wednesday, February 15

I Am Man, Hear Me Roar

For a short while, my mother tried the gentle-lady farmer routine. It was great to visit in the spring: flowers and vegetables sprouting, Jose the donkey racing down the long driveway anticipating the carrots in your pocket, the rooster making sure all his hens were in the right place, bluebirds making nests in the birdhouses I and her husband made, alligator lizards snoozing under the hose bib, geese hornking on the pond......

And Billy, the satanic asshole goat. He was eight feet tall at the shoulder, peed in his mouth before rubbing his harem with his prodigious phallus, shot lasers from his eyes, and could smell your testosterone from half a mile. I went in once to pet the baby goats, and Billy reared up, a stormy tower of badassness topped by wicked curved horns, hepped up on clover, my puny pale humanity in his crosshairs. I cowered behind a post, hoping for safety, peering up in terror at the thousand-foot devil that was Billy. His glowing ember eyes stared from the clouds as lightning swirled about his evil crown, the ground trembled beneath his might, bats and snakes and demons pranced across his shaggy coat, his stink caused trees to fall over and vultures to drop from the sky. I whimpered what I thought was my last futile wussiness.

"Billy!"

My senior mother, five inches shorter, in a long skirt, muscles half my size, strode into the field, grabbed Billy by one skull-weapon, and twisted him to the ground with one blue-veined wrist. "Stop that." She then proceeded to gather the baby goats in the fold of her skirt while simultaneously grabbing some afalfa and somehow banishing the now chastised Billy to the fence. The mating season was in full bawdy, growing things were crazed with the fullness of life, the afternoon spring sun suffused the world with warmth and contentment. In the center of it all, my mother held court.

Later, as I fed Jose a carrot and watched a bluebird flit about with string in its beak, I realized that Nature really is a Mother.

5 comments:

Mom said...

Well...Men can really be as horny as Billy goats, but handling a horny old Billy goat is a Woman's job.

Mother Nature thanks you for the memories...

Cowboy said...

Kingfisher, I haven't laughed this hard for literally weeks...

Billy the satanic asshole goat has carved a permanent place in my "Most Creatively Assembled Litany of Adjectives" Hall of Fame.

All of that, and your mother literally takes him down single-handedly. Hat's off to your mum.

Thanks for the morning laugh... It made the hellish commute this morning somehow worth it.

Kingfisher said...

Mom - well the horniness wasn't exactly the focus, but I hope you liked the story anyway. It's all exactly accurate. No exaggeration. Really.

Nilo - Thanks! I'm nothing if not too overly flowery in my verbosity, but it was intended this time. Looks like my attempt was successful.

jazz bird said...

Having met your mother several times, that is such a cute mental picture you drew. Great story :)

This Girl I Used to Know said...

You need to introduce Billy to KOM's gorillas.