Of Cat Pheromones, Clam Dip, and Charlie the Lamb

Ho hum. Alyssa's at work at the Nampa Sam's Club, and here I am, bored out of my mind. During the week I've been working a temp job where I package soothing cat pheromones and dog sunblock (no kidding!), but right now I'm just trying to think of something productive to do. And by productive, I mean pretty much anything besides snarfing down clam dip and staring uselessly at my laptop screen trying to think of what's going to happen next in the novel I'm writing, like I've been doing for the last four hours or so.

I have a job interview on Tuesday at Healthwise, which is pretty nerve-wracking. I mean, I've had a whole flippin' lot of interviews in Boise, but this will be the first one at a place I actually want to work for, so that makes things a lot more intense.

Anyway, not much else to say, but here's a wildly clever story joke I made up a few years ago. See what you think.

"Farmer Jones' barnyard was controlled by two factions that were constantly at odds with one another--the sheep ran the East Side and the goats the West Side. A sheep who accidentally overstepped the invisible boundary separating the two sides could expect to be tenderized by the goats' horns; likewise, a goat who made the mistake of crossing into the East Side would live to regret it.

Charlie the Lamb was the 'runt' of the young sheep in Farmer Jones' barnyard. His eight brothers were easily twice as big as Charlie, had begun to grow out their horns, and spent hours each day cavorting with the young ewes. When Charlie asked them if he could play too, they told him maybe in five years or so, when he had grown an inch or two, then laughed themselves silly. Charlie stomped away angrily, promising that he would make a name for himself someday, they'd see!

When Charlie's uncle, Number One Ram, asked him what was bothering him, Charlie responded, 'It's not fair! All my brothers are bigger than I am and have horns. They're practically rams already, and the ewes love them for it! Uncle, is there anything I can do to become big and strong like them?'

'I don't know of anything that will make you bigger,' responded Number One Ram, 'but I know of a task that will gain you the respect of your fellow sheep and make you a ram in their eyes. It is not a task for the faint of heart, Charlie, and may prove very dangerous!'

'Please tell me, Uncle!' Charlie begged.

'Very well. As you know, ever since this farm came into operation, there has been much contention between the goats and ourselves. They think we are wool-covered pansies, Charlie, and will never cease mocking us until one of us is able to put them in their place. Only then will they realize that we, the sheep, are the Masters of the Barnyard. Charlie, you are small, but you have moxie. Will you do this for us?'

'Though I may not return to the pasture alive,' Charlie said, 'I will do what I can.'

And so Charlie was sent on his way. When he reached the invisible boundary between the East Side and the West Side, he found himself staring across at two huge smelly goats with visible war scars criss-crossing their flanks. 'Well, what have we here?' one asked, chewing on a shirt he had snagged from Farmer Jones' clothesline.

'Looks like the sheep sent us a goodwill punching bag,' snorted the other. 'Come on, let's teach him a lesson.'

Just as the goats started to approach Charlie, he gave a blood-curdling 'Baaaaaa!', charged across the line, and butted the second goat with all his might, knocking him on his face in the dirt. The first goat spat out the shirt and knelt next to his pal, asking, 'Billy Bob! Are you okay?' Charlie, taking advantage of the distraction, rammed into him as well, knocking him a good ten feet.

Charlie returned triumphantly to Number One Ram. 'Well,' he said, 'am I a ram yet?'

'Not in the least,' Number One Ram responded. 'Though I am deeply proud of what you have done, the goats have not yet been put in their place. If anything, they mock us even more than before. Charlie, I want you to march straight back to the West Side and knock down more goats!'

So Charlie returned to the West Side, where he found several goats already there, awaiting his arrival. 'Look, fellas!' their leader sneered. 'It's that lamb who knocked down two of our boys. Let's make mutton outta him!'

'Come and get me, you garbage-eating nanny-lickers!' Charlie bleated. One by one each goat charged at him. Charlie dodged the horns and rammed each one of them in the flanks, sending him sprawling in the dirt. When all the other goats on the West Side saw how easily Charlie subdued his opponents--not to mention the murderous glint in his eye--they ran for their lives, wanting no part in the senseless carnage.

Charlie returned again to Number One Ram. 'Well, Uncle,' he said, 'I'd say that was putting those goats in their place, don't you?'

'Indeed it was, Charlie,' Number One Ram responded, 'and it will be quite a long while before they dare mock us again. However, word of your accomplishments has reached the goats of Farmer Brown's barnyard, next door. They refuse to believe that a runt lamb such as yourself could single-handedly thrash an entire penful of goats. Charlie, before I give you ram status, there remains yet another task to be accomplished. I want you to go to Farmer Brown's goats and teach them the same lesson you have taught the goats here!'

Charlie woefully bleated, 'How many goats must a lamb knock down before you call him a ram?'"

Ha ha ha. Is that some funny gimshee or what?