I've started talking to animals, sort of. They don't talk back -- don't worry, I haven't gone completely bonkers -- but failing other human contact (I've been alone in the farmhouse for a day minus the screaming children and demanding teenagers and kind hosts, and it's sort of nice) I tend to assume that the cat has a greater personality than he does.
Today I got the bike out of the shed and had to shoo the herd of chickens away from the table by the window. "What, are you guys trying to Peeping-Tom me? Get out of here." Then I walked it past the pigs, who oinked in a friendly kind of way. "Sorry, Miss Piggy and Madame Cochon, no rotten egg shells for you today." I pedaled down the road, my back muscles wussy from misuse, and couldn't pass the friendly horse without saying hello. She was wrapped in her blanket, staring warily through her chain-link fence at me; we exchanged no actual words apart from my fumbled, "You're preettttyyy", but I did blow into her nose a lot, which is horse for "hi, should we bite each other or be friends".
Despite all this talking, when the friendly men in the all-male pub said hello to me, I said "hi" really quickly, grabbed my coat, pushed past the crowd by the fire, and awkwardly opened the exit door the wrong way. I think I'll leave this experience mute.
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