After our customary one day of R&R following our trip from SoCal to Bristol, Tennessee, Justin and I went to visit "Sis" and "Fat" down at their farm house. Everything out here is pretty rural so any house that has so much as a chicken can be considered a "farmhouse".
Justin spent the few hours that we were there catching up with his aunt Sheila (Sis? Fat? I don't know...) and talking about what he could disclose about work. His work at Sony is an enigma to me since he can barely divulge any of the details to anyone, even his immediate family. While they were talking, I got acquainted with Donnie, Sheila's husband, while we drank coke and talked shop. He is a steel draftsman and I found myself having quite a few things to add to the conversation since I know how to follow construction blueprints.
We had also brought along our dog, Marceline, who was bundled up in a turtleneck and an overcoat that Justin had picked out at the store the day before while we were still dealing with jet lag. Sheila and Donnie had two dogs: a bedraggled looking brown poodle who looked like she'd been around since the Civil War and a wide-eyed Boston Terrier pup named Izzy. Izzy was determined to play with Marcy if it killed her and she made every attempt possible while we were sitting inside talking and drinking cokes.
Izzy did get her chance when I decided that it was time for Marcy to go outside and pee. I helped Marcy to shed her overcoat but made her keep on her black turtleneck that had a skull pattern stitched into it. She bounded out the door like she had never been outside before and Izzy came tumbling after.
Once they were outside, Marcy instantly noticed a large, gray chicken. She took off like a shot and chased it around the pony pen, weaving between their short little legs and scaring that chicken into the next field. There was a lone sheep dog watching the border of the next field over and, even though that land belongs to the family as a whole, that dog guards its borders like a sentinel; it did not let the chicken nor Marcy pass its eternal vigil.
Upon losing the large gray chicken, Marcy became interested in the ponies. Just as she was stalking the nearest one, a parade of smaller but more colorful chickens came out of the coop. Marcy and Izzy became fast friends at this point, working together to herd the chickens down into the gully behind the house. They jumped and pounced and weaved all through the brush until Marcy found herself entangled in a thicket of bushes and dead leaves. A minute or two passed before she emerged from the entanglement sweater-free. By then, all of the chickens had scattered and Izzy was busy sniffing around at the top of the hill. I climbed down into the gully and found a barbed wire fence that separated the property from the road. I was sure that Marcy's sweater was hung up on it somewhere since the middle of the thicket was divided by that very same fence. I searched for about five minutes before giving up. My ankle was broken and I could only go so far into the brush. I decided to ask Justin to look for it later and called Marcy to me. She, having a mind of her own in this land that was as wild as a jungle as far as she was concerned, did not come. Instead she ran after Izzy and they tumbled around in the mud-- I was very glad that her sweater was lost.
It took some time but I finally corralled Marcy and Izzy back into the house. Justin helped as he had come out looking for me a few minutes earlier. I told him about the sweater and the chickens and the ponies and he laughed, just like I thought he would. It made me happy.
I asked Justin to go down into the gully to find the sweater but he decided that we had better finish up our visit before then. We stayed a bit longer and Marcy tolerated Izzy while she gamboled and played at Marcy's feet. Izzy made all kinds of snorting sounds which I think were supposed to encourage Marcy to join her in wrestling on the floor but they just ended up sounding like the bleating of an amateur trumpet player and did not impress her at all. Izzy's nose was so short and flat that just about every noise she made sounded like forced air through a badly damaged wind instrument.
Justin spent the few hours that we were there catching up with his aunt Sheila (Sis? Fat? I don't know...) and talking about what he could disclose about work. His work at Sony is an enigma to me since he can barely divulge any of the details to anyone, even his immediate family. While they were talking, I got acquainted with Donnie, Sheila's husband, while we drank coke and talked shop. He is a steel draftsman and I found myself having quite a few things to add to the conversation since I know how to follow construction blueprints.
We had also brought along our dog, Marceline, who was bundled up in a turtleneck and an overcoat that Justin had picked out at the store the day before while we were still dealing with jet lag. Sheila and Donnie had two dogs: a bedraggled looking brown poodle who looked like she'd been around since the Civil War and a wide-eyed Boston Terrier pup named Izzy. Izzy was determined to play with Marcy if it killed her and she made every attempt possible while we were sitting inside talking and drinking cokes.
Izzy did get her chance when I decided that it was time for Marcy to go outside and pee. I helped Marcy to shed her overcoat but made her keep on her black turtleneck that had a skull pattern stitched into it. She bounded out the door like she had never been outside before and Izzy came tumbling after.
Once they were outside, Marcy instantly noticed a large, gray chicken. She took off like a shot and chased it around the pony pen, weaving between their short little legs and scaring that chicken into the next field. There was a lone sheep dog watching the border of the next field over and, even though that land belongs to the family as a whole, that dog guards its borders like a sentinel; it did not let the chicken nor Marcy pass its eternal vigil.
Upon losing the large gray chicken, Marcy became interested in the ponies. Just as she was stalking the nearest one, a parade of smaller but more colorful chickens came out of the coop. Marcy and Izzy became fast friends at this point, working together to herd the chickens down into the gully behind the house. They jumped and pounced and weaved all through the brush until Marcy found herself entangled in a thicket of bushes and dead leaves. A minute or two passed before she emerged from the entanglement sweater-free. By then, all of the chickens had scattered and Izzy was busy sniffing around at the top of the hill. I climbed down into the gully and found a barbed wire fence that separated the property from the road. I was sure that Marcy's sweater was hung up on it somewhere since the middle of the thicket was divided by that very same fence. I searched for about five minutes before giving up. My ankle was broken and I could only go so far into the brush. I decided to ask Justin to look for it later and called Marcy to me. She, having a mind of her own in this land that was as wild as a jungle as far as she was concerned, did not come. Instead she ran after Izzy and they tumbled around in the mud-- I was very glad that her sweater was lost.
It took some time but I finally corralled Marcy and Izzy back into the house. Justin helped as he had come out looking for me a few minutes earlier. I told him about the sweater and the chickens and the ponies and he laughed, just like I thought he would. It made me happy.
I asked Justin to go down into the gully to find the sweater but he decided that we had better finish up our visit before then. We stayed a bit longer and Marcy tolerated Izzy while she gamboled and played at Marcy's feet. Izzy made all kinds of snorting sounds which I think were supposed to encourage Marcy to join her in wrestling on the floor but they just ended up sounding like the bleating of an amateur trumpet player and did not impress her at all. Izzy's nose was so short and flat that just about every noise she made sounded like forced air through a badly damaged wind instrument.
I collected my things and our dog, said goodbye to "Sis" and "Fat", Donnie, and Izzy, and made for the pony corral. I really wanted a picture with one of those ponies but Justin was more interested in recovering Marcy's sweater. I pointed him down into the gully and, when he couldn't find it, dropped Marcy in the car and followed him down as far as I could go. He ducked under the barbed wire fence and searched the little thicket until he uncovered it several minutes later. It was full of burs and I was not going to put it back onto Marcy just so she could itch herself to death. I threw it into the back of the car, grabbed Marcy and bundled her up in her overcoat, and we went on our way.
Marcy and Izzy before the chicken chasing.
Marcy discovers the chicken.
--Amy, Justin and Marceline
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