Old McDonald hates farms

When I was a little kid, I desperately wanted a horse. Then I went to some church camp and I got to ride a horse. And I got kicked by the horse in front of my horse, because my horse tried to stick his nose up the other horse's butt. It hurts to get kicked by a horse. A few years later on a family vacation, I rode another horse on a group trail ride. It wanted to eat grass instead of keeping up with the group. Then it had to run to catch up, and it scared the crap out of me. I gave horses one more try a couple of years after that. I was thrown. I gave up, because obviously me and horses just don't get along. Plus, I'm really allergic to them anyway. Because of bad horses, I don't like any animals larger than my overweight labs.


My mother-in-law has a couple of horses. She loves animals. She also has dogs, cats, and llamas. Llamas worry me more than horses. They spit when they hate you. They spit when they like you. They spit because you breathed in their hemisphere. I hate spit. Spit makes me gag. Even my own spit makes me gag. You don't even want to see me anywhere near some guy who chews and then has to walk around spitting everywhere. You also don't want to see me around llamas. Last week, MIL sent an email with pictures. She bought more llamas to replace some old dead llamas.


She sent pictures of her new llamas. (Not those to the left. Those are anonymous google llamas.) They look all sorts of sweet and and cute, and her llamas have haircuts like poodles. Llamas with poodle haircuts are trying to suck you into their spell. "Look at me. I'm cute and fluffy. I will love you forever." (I'm guessing as I don't speak llama.)



The giant scary animal obsession means MIL can never ever die, because Rod is not allowed to inherit llamas. I don't even know if she's though ahead to llama distribution, but they can't come here, because I know what will happen, and it won't be anything good.

I'll be out walking someday, probably to feed the llamas baby kittens and bunnies, because I'm pretty sure that's what they eat. A llama will do that creepy following thing and have his nose just behind my shoulder like a creepy dude in line behind me at the grocery store. I'll feel the llamas hot, moist breath on my ear, and I'll shudder involuntarily. Then the llama will snort. I'll jump and turn to face it even though I really just want to run away screaming. That beast will look me in the eye and then hock out a giant loogie.




<====== Try to tell me that thing doesn't want to spit at me!






Instinct will cause me to flee, but I'll be blind from poisonous llama spit glopping around in my eyes. A llama will stick its foot out and trip me, and I'll fall face first in pile of llama poop, because my lazy kids never get around to poop scooping, and it is so not my job. Before I can even get up, the other llamas will run over and start stomping on me and biting me. By the time the EMT's get here, I'll be half-dead, and they won't want to revive me, because no one wants to give mouth to mouth to a person whose face is covered in llama poop - even with those little soda bottle top looking things they use now. So I'll die in a field covered in llama poop surrounded by giggling llamas (you know they'd be giggling) and grossed out EMT's all because Rod inherited llamas.

I swear MIL told me recently that she's planning to get chickens. I hope I dreamed that, because I don't even want to get into my fear of having my eyes poked out by angry chickens.