“The Circle of Life Disrupted”
Life seemed promising. We had a new marriage, a new set of pots and pans, and now we searched for a new, barking farm dog. We needed the new dog to match the old farm this new husband of mine had just kidnapped me to. We were immediately minimized to two big city folks trying to play country on the North Dakota prairie. We welcomed a male, Siberian husky onto the prairie meadow we call home.
We named the vicious looking dog “Kisska.” Kisska means kitten in Russian. Perhaps that was my first mistake. The dog was embarrassed by it’s name. Kisska settled in but never would bark. He didn’t take on the role as the great and ferocious protector we had planned. Bored with a dog that was void of bark, I decided it was time to get some real farm animals.
I wanted a horse and Husband said, “No, too much work.” I wanted a lama and he asked, “What are lamas good for?” I didn’t even bother to ask about a cow because Husband has an adversity to red meat. Surprisingly, he came through. To pacify my yearning to be a genuine farmer, he brought home three baby ducks. “Duck farming is a respectable hobby,” I contemplated.
The ducks and I bonded. They followed me around my meadow like Husband does when I cook spaghetti. One duck especially loved me. It looked more peculiar than the other two birds. I named that duck “Molly.” Molly could have been a boy or it could have been a girl. I wasn’t completely sure. The duck loved me like no other bird I’d ever known. It wasn’t until the postman informed me that my duck was really a goose that I realized I’ve never really known that many birds in my life.
Kisska, the boy dog with a feminine name, continued not to bark. But he did frolic. One morning, I looked out to find him playing in an especially jovial manner. He was bouncing in a rhythmic stride with something yellow hanging from his mouth. I deduced it must be something from our garbage burn pile. Horror struck as Husband took a closer look. Kisska had eaten Molly the duck-goose. Kisska may have eaten it, but it was all my fault! I had single-handedly disrupted the circle of life by naming that dog Kisska. Everyone knows that dogs eat cats and cats eat birds. The dog, thinking it was a kitten because of his name, had eaten the duck that was really a goose.
Just when I thought I was getting good at this farm life, my male cat named Wilbur got pregnant by his own mother. Apparently Wilbur isn’t a male. Now he’s the father to his own mother’s child. That’s just wrong!
Bad things tend to happen when you mess with nature’s way. Like putting a big city girl on a prairie hill in North Dakota.