Border Wars

Things have been a bit fraught at Chateau Right for the last hour or so. You see, I had a breach in my “big, beautiful” high-tensile fence, procured at great expense about 12 years ago. One of the wires snapped and it didn’t take long for the sheep, probably incited by the goats, to find their way through it, into the grounds immediately surrounding the house, and hitherto the exclusive paddock of “Dao” (means “Star” in another language) and “Adventure,” both bottle-raised pet girls who, when the occasion permits, are not above wandering up the porch steps and into the living room where they spent their lamb-hoods.

When I discovered the incursion of these Deplorables into hitherto bluestocking and civilized territory, I went outside, arms flailing like a windmill, shouting at the top of my lungs, to find out what was going on. I discovered the broken wire. Of course, the illegal ovines were not minded to return through the gap created by it, so I opened the big gate and tried to get them to use it to return to their native land. All this did was incentivize the remaining caravan of grifters to disgorge themselves into Dao and Adventure’s private space in an effort to secure salt and minerals, or sweet feed, or 12 percent sheep pellets (and the assurance of future social network support and medical care) without having to work very hard to get them. Perhaps they even imagined they’d have the right to vote, I don’t know!

I enlisted my own implementation of ICE, the two Great Pyrenees, generally quite good at rounding up invaders, particularly the UPS man and the guy reading the electric meter. One GP discovered a sunny spot in the field and lay down to warm herself, the other wandered down to the trough fed by the spring under the walnut tree, and enjoyed his own personal spa treatment. I continued, alone, with my efforts, and eventually got all 15 of the miscreants back into the barn and slammed the gate behind them.

I’ve about had it for the day. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to go to Tractor Supply and pick up a few things to repair the damage to the border fence. Perhaps, if I hold my mouth the right way, I’ll get some funding from another agency to assist me with my endeavors.

In the meantime, I’m going to reflect on how this isn’t a metaphor for anything.

Happy 535th anniversary of the publication of the first edition of Aesop’s Fables in printed form (March 26, 1484). Thank you, William Caxton for helping to preserve those wonderful stories I remember from my childhood in which the clever animals teach us one lesson after another.

Yep. “Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.”