Wronny has been raising her two sons Halfway and Gulliver this year and since they are young princes they dine with Wronny everywhere she dines and Wronny dines everywhere since she is the herdqueen and she can eat whatever she wants and it doesn't matter who else wants it.
Wronny eats her grain and hay and then everyone else's hay and grain and the young princes canter along beside her muttering royal statements like "make way, make way, young princes coming through, peasantry please stand back," and so on and they stuff themselves with their silver spoons and by this time they each weigh about a thousand pounds and are as tall as a Shetland pony. They fancy themselves the Upstairs Goats, and the rest of us are Scullery Maids.
"How kind of you," said Halfway the other day while he gobbled Xie Xie's dinner.
"You may touch my white spot if you like," said Gulliver after hogging all the alfalfa in the feed rack.
In between their ten times a day grain and hay feedings they each guzzle about a gallon of Wronny milk. Their idea of portion control is that they control all the portions.
Everyone else just looks at them bitterly and pretends to like them. "So handsome! So regal!"
"Would you mind just moving just a tad bit out of the way?" they are always asking, then hogging the best spots to lie down.
"Of course not," says everyone else, looking daggers at them.
Well the word came down today that they have been sold and are leaving for their new home very soon and the chorus of fake sadness that welled up would deafen the gods. The insincere expressions of sorrow were many and numerous, with nobody wanting to be outdone.
"Not! Not Gulliver and Halfway! Our two royal ponies! The sadness! The sadness I feel coming on! I'm sure it will hit me as soon as I stop laughing these anguished laughs!"
I did not want to tell them but I had to, it was only fair that they should know that after living their whole lives Upstairs, they will be going Downstairs without their mommy, and they had better start shopping for little frilly scullery caps.
6 comments :
Millie, I hope that the little princes will be totally adored and spoiled at their new home as my own little boy, Blessing, and Myson over at Eden Hills farm are.
Or perhaps butler garb; that would let them keep a little haughty dignity even downstairs. Well, that's what we think, anyway, and we're pretty close to experts since we saw part of an episode of Downton Abbey once when The Owner watched it on a netbook outside. If we hadn't tried to eat the netbook, we might have been able to offer more tips to the young princelings. But you know, it was licorice colored plastic and all . . .
Hmm. Interesting. I picture them in the caps.
Millie, Do not be so sure. This year's "prince" at our spread left for his new home about a month ago. His new "owner/servent" emailed yesterday that he is "in charge" and quite happy. Some rulers are born...we called him "The One" and they named him "Uno." Apparently they agreed with us and him that his mother was right...he rocks!
As ye sew, so shall ye reap, I always say. What is the sound of anguished laughter? Is it like one hand clapping?
What's all this about sewing? Is there a quilting bee going on somewhere? No actually the anguished laughs sound exactly like regular laughs, it's a bit surprising. The anguish is on the inside.
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