It's been awhile, but lots has happened lately that warrants writing about. It's a tad unfortunate, though, that it starts off a bit negative. That will change in the future, I promise. I just felt the need to document and process.
So last week was one of those weeks. You know the ones where nothing is going right and you're in a funk, and the fact that it rains every day doesn't help...
Tom and I came home late on Monday night to the dogs staring at us from the barn. Doesn't sound bad, except for the fact that we're usually greeted by our precious goats Willow and Hector. We knew something was wrong when the cuties weren't flopping their ears at us. Tom talks to me like a dog, "Stay there. Stop. Don't come any further." We walk up to the house, for what I can't even remember now, and as we walk he tells me that Willow's dead. Her head is missing. "You're joking. This is a joke, right?" I say. Why would he joke about that? Turns out he wasn't.
We get the dogs out of the barn and rush to little Hector, crouching next to a headless Willow, wet head and an exposed jaw. Our beloved dogs had not only eaten their sister, but tried to attack Hector too. Somehow, he made it through the day alive. We rush him to the vet where we remain until sometime after midnight. The vet assures us that he'll be fine after she can repair the gaping hole on his face.
There's never a good time for these things to happen, but last week definitely was the most inopportune time. I was out of town and in mandatory training for several days, Tom is beyond busy too. We get to visit Hector on Wednesday evening. He looks precious. His head is wrapped in cobalt blue covering with a perfectly cut red heart for Valentine's Day right between his eyes. He's our own little Mexican wrestler.
He'd proven to be awfully strong. First he survives for 10 hours in the barn with his face half open, watching his dog friends eat his sister turned lover, and then lasts several days at the vet. We so badly wanted him to make it. But after trying everything they could, and despite his increasingly positive attitude and energy and knowing that internally things were great, we put him down on Friday. He couldn't eat and that doesn't make for an easy life. After not shedding a single tear all week, I broke down when we had to make the decision and didn't have a dry eye for awhile...
But it all gets kind of funny from here. On Friday as Tom and I are driving to the vet I say, "I need to stop and get gas." Literally a couple of blocks away from the gas station and the vet Priscilla the Prius flashes an awful red light at me and she starts slowing down and I'm forced to pull off on the side of the road. Tom is mortified. I can't stop laughing.
We get out of the car, start walking to the gas station, buy a gas can, fill it up, and start walking back to the car. Thankfully, the Tigerville Fire Chief sees us and offers us a ride back, while mocking me saying, "How do you run a hybrid out of gas?" We empty the gas can into the car, while Tom is cautioning me to stay away from the road. She won't start. In fact, the car won't even go into drive, so I'm rolling down the hill a lot faster than I'd like to. The chief drives us back to the gas station, fill up the can again, put it in Priscilla. Same thing happens again. I'm begging Tom to find this funny and still love me. So after a third trip to the gas station Priscilla is off and running.
Then Saturday I'm helping my friend lay rock in her backyard. It was a surprisingly good time. I head to Priscilla, eager to get home and cleaned up so I can make my way to a Mardi Gras evening at Brittany's. My car door won't open. What? I have a smart car, it's supposed to be impossible to lock yourself out if the key is in the car. I call Brittany because she drives a Prius too, and she said, "ya, that's not entirely true." So after she picks me up, drives me to my house to let me in with her key, digging around my entire house unsuccessfully looking for my key, she kindly calls AAA and they let me in.
It was just icing on the cake.
Saturday night was the greatest end to that terrible week, not to mention one of the more fun nights I've had in a long time. The kind when your face hurts from smiling and laughing so much. Good cajun food, lots of laughter (mostly at my expense thanks to Tom), and the pinata left over from Brittany's surprise party in June.
Of course it was sans candy at this point because Nick had eaten it all in the past eight months, so the boys set out on a drunken mission to find candy. Rite Aid was closed, BiLo was closed, so Tom suggests the sub par Chinese restaurant. They walk in and ask, "How many fortune cookies can we get for $5?" After trying to convey what the heck a pinata is, they come home and stuff the oversized, paper mache cupcake. It was supposed to be a secret, but Nick told Brittany, Brittany told the ladies and we acted surprised :)
Seriously, what's better than a New Orleans night beating a Mexican pinata stuffed with Chinese fortune cookies?
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