I'm pleased to report I have survived my first day on the farm. I joined the masses of cud-chewing, methane-spewing, sammich-eating cattle as we were promptly herded into the corral , only to be immediately separated into our own stalls. I was lucky yesterday. I avoided the slaughterhouse. Moo.
Today may be a different story. While I attempted to locate the electric prodding device, its whereabouts still remain a mystery to me. I predict that should I continue to keep my head down, and the bar up, I will avoid said tool of pain altogether. Go me. Go moo! However, the prod may be more figurative than literal, as I am subjected to the wailings and whinings of Tim McGraw, the Dixie Chicks et al. Poor me. Poor moo.
I am unimpressed with the depth of breeds on this farm. It seems to me that these forty hour per week residents are either one of the aforementioned bovine non-individuals (moo) or the ubiquitous Prairie Dog, as they frequently pop their heads out from the safety of their cubes to satisfy their curiosity in the newbie. They then promptly retreat to the sanctuary of their salaried homes to busy themselves with looking busy. Now that's some well-earned money. Moo.
Into which category I will fall remains to be seen at this time, although I have become quite fond of this philosophy. Unfortunately, it does not mesh well with my "personality," as pointing out the short-comings of others is one of my few hobbies and brings great joy and satisfaction to my life.
Until I have determined which species to associate myself, I shall remain a bitch in cow's clothing. The costume may be different, but it's a role I know all too well.
Moo.
Today may be a different story. While I attempted to locate the electric prodding device, its whereabouts still remain a mystery to me. I predict that should I continue to keep my head down, and the bar up, I will avoid said tool of pain altogether. Go me. Go moo! However, the prod may be more figurative than literal, as I am subjected to the wailings and whinings of Tim McGraw, the Dixie Chicks et al. Poor me. Poor moo.
I am unimpressed with the depth of breeds on this farm. It seems to me that these forty hour per week residents are either one of the aforementioned bovine non-individuals (moo) or the ubiquitous Prairie Dog, as they frequently pop their heads out from the safety of their cubes to satisfy their curiosity in the newbie. They then promptly retreat to the sanctuary of their salaried homes to busy themselves with looking busy. Now that's some well-earned money. Moo.
Into which category I will fall remains to be seen at this time, although I have become quite fond of this philosophy. Unfortunately, it does not mesh well with my "personality," as pointing out the short-comings of others is one of my few hobbies and brings great joy and satisfaction to my life.
Until I have determined which species to associate myself, I shall remain a bitch in cow's clothing. The costume may be different, but it's a role I know all too well.
Moo.
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