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I woke to coughing this A.M.
Jan. 26th, 2006 11:08 amWhen I first opened my eyes, I did not see my room. I saw The Cell from last year, the 11' X 7.5' space surrounding me, and I was certain that it was a night terror. Then I heard the raspy, British voice from the foot of my bed.
"You thought I'd let you down, did you?" croaked Daltry, his right hoof lifting a stinky cigar to his stained teeth.
I told him it wasn't an exact science, this whole deal. Nothing is reliable all of the time, so I prepare for the worst even while hoping for the best. I then asked him what was the matter.
"Ah, you see, I figured if I were going to visit you down here in Appalachia, then I might wish to adhere to some of their customs. I began smoking like a chimney, and sadly, my beard and mustache have turned a most sour colour since."
I assured him it was part of Appalachian culture, having tobacco-stained facial hair and teeth.
"It's absolUUUtely reVOLTing!" he exclaimed.
"Not to mention really unhealthy," I added as he coughed up what I would like to think of as cud. We won't "go there," if you will.
I then noticed the donkey's purple lounge coat was a tad frayed around the edges. He rolled his eyes and said," I know, I know. You see, those saucy snails left me behind. They munched their way through all the salt, practically pouring the most pure portions down my throat, and then left me to the Fire Tribes!"
I must have looked perplexed, as he sighed, LOUDLY, coming the closest to true donkey-voice as I have ever heard him.
"The Fire Tribes, love! They're just DREADFUL beings! DREADFUL! They smell like last weekend's drunkards, acidic stench pouring from every crevice of their three sections! They march and march, and even though I could hear them coming for me - and oh, how very awful was my hangover from the sauce that wretched morning - I was completely incapable of moving! Before I knew it, they were tearing at my beautiful jacket, nibbling on my ears, and they stole most of my cigars. Horrid buggers, the lot!"
I then realized the smell just beneath the cigar...ants. The Fire Tribes were a gang of ants, and apparently brutal to donkeys.
I climbed off the bed, almost falling along the way as I had most vehemently forgotten that dreadful little space and how high the bed was. I shuffled over to Daltry in my fuzzy slippers, and pet him gently above his brow.
"There there, now. You're here, and you're safe," I told him.
He then began wailing like a child. I tried to calm him, knowing that he would wake up the entire dorm. Then, I was distracted:
"Daltry, why am I here and not on the hill?"
"Oh, dawling, my most sincere apologies. *sniffle* You see, I heard humans make mention of misery enjoying company, so I thought this was the closest I could come to making you miserable beside me!"
I glared for a moment, and then, as if driven by some unknown force, I grabbed his cigar and took a long drag. Daltry was appalled: "Dawling, you don't smoke, and that's my LAST CIGAAAAR!!!"
Next thing I knew, I was coughing my way through a smokey haze, only to find us back in my room on the hill. Daltry sat a blubbering mess on the floor.
"Now you've done it! Oh this day is the SHAMBLES, I say!"
I urged him onto the couch, made him some hot cocoa, and assured him I'd buy him more cigars if he'd only stop crying. The Big, Burnt-Orange Squishy Couch isn't keen on Donkey snot, after all.
He nodded timidly, and closed his eyes. He was snoring before I headed to classes.
And now, I must find a good cigar store, eat some lunch, and head back to check on my donkey friend, who suffers from betrayal and loss...his saucy snails have abandoned him!
"You thought I'd let you down, did you?" croaked Daltry, his right hoof lifting a stinky cigar to his stained teeth.
I told him it wasn't an exact science, this whole deal. Nothing is reliable all of the time, so I prepare for the worst even while hoping for the best. I then asked him what was the matter.
"Ah, you see, I figured if I were going to visit you down here in Appalachia, then I might wish to adhere to some of their customs. I began smoking like a chimney, and sadly, my beard and mustache have turned a most sour colour since."
I assured him it was part of Appalachian culture, having tobacco-stained facial hair and teeth.
"It's absolUUUtely reVOLTing!" he exclaimed.
"Not to mention really unhealthy," I added as he coughed up what I would like to think of as cud. We won't "go there," if you will.
I then noticed the donkey's purple lounge coat was a tad frayed around the edges. He rolled his eyes and said," I know, I know. You see, those saucy snails left me behind. They munched their way through all the salt, practically pouring the most pure portions down my throat, and then left me to the Fire Tribes!"
I must have looked perplexed, as he sighed, LOUDLY, coming the closest to true donkey-voice as I have ever heard him.
"The Fire Tribes, love! They're just DREADFUL beings! DREADFUL! They smell like last weekend's drunkards, acidic stench pouring from every crevice of their three sections! They march and march, and even though I could hear them coming for me - and oh, how very awful was my hangover from the sauce that wretched morning - I was completely incapable of moving! Before I knew it, they were tearing at my beautiful jacket, nibbling on my ears, and they stole most of my cigars. Horrid buggers, the lot!"
I then realized the smell just beneath the cigar...ants. The Fire Tribes were a gang of ants, and apparently brutal to donkeys.
I climbed off the bed, almost falling along the way as I had most vehemently forgotten that dreadful little space and how high the bed was. I shuffled over to Daltry in my fuzzy slippers, and pet him gently above his brow.
"There there, now. You're here, and you're safe," I told him.
He then began wailing like a child. I tried to calm him, knowing that he would wake up the entire dorm. Then, I was distracted:
"Daltry, why am I here and not on the hill?"
"Oh, dawling, my most sincere apologies. *sniffle* You see, I heard humans make mention of misery enjoying company, so I thought this was the closest I could come to making you miserable beside me!"
I glared for a moment, and then, as if driven by some unknown force, I grabbed his cigar and took a long drag. Daltry was appalled: "Dawling, you don't smoke, and that's my LAST CIGAAAAR!!!"
Next thing I knew, I was coughing my way through a smokey haze, only to find us back in my room on the hill. Daltry sat a blubbering mess on the floor.
"Now you've done it! Oh this day is the SHAMBLES, I say!"
I urged him onto the couch, made him some hot cocoa, and assured him I'd buy him more cigars if he'd only stop crying. The Big, Burnt-Orange Squishy Couch isn't keen on Donkey snot, after all.
He nodded timidly, and closed his eyes. He was snoring before I headed to classes.
And now, I must find a good cigar store, eat some lunch, and head back to check on my donkey friend, who suffers from betrayal and loss...his saucy snails have abandoned him!
