1. We're all insane.
2. My uncles are some of the funniest, most inappropriate people I know.
3. We will take any situation and turn it into ridiculousness.
After Gram's house was flooded, several family members spent their days and nights cleaning out her basement. For about a week, I was one of those family members. I'm sure you'd agree that schlepping buckets of sludge and mud is the least entertaining physical activity on the face of the planet.
After many hours of inhaling sludge air, basement muck, and Molson Canadian beer, we decided to call it a night. Whenever anyone in the family decides to "call it a night", it usually means it's time to decompress and make fun of each other. In other words, it's story time.
I have always loved story time, and I love it even more when Uncles tell stories from their childhood. It's like a little glimpse into a strange world of farmland, poorly placed children, and guns. I hope one day to record these yarns so that the world may know the wonder that is the Wolfe pack [so named because my grandmother had ten children. yes. TEN.]
Uncles grew up helping out at a family friend's farm. The owner, Farmer Watts, was not only completely out of his mind, but also he owned the most terrifying dog you've ever seen. [think werewolf/demon scary]. All of my memories of visiting the Watts farm involve an enormous, borderline rabid dog that constantly tried to bite my little kiddo face. As you can imagine, Sisters and I hated going there and would stay in the car at all costs. You'll recall that Big L was adamant about politeness and so she would drag Sisters and I out of the car to greet Farmer Watts. Near tears, we would say hello and then scamper back into the car as fast as humanly possible to avoid being seen by the dog. Although the three of us were working together to reach safe ground, we could never secure our perimeter. Too many factors. Too many risks. I am telling you that dog could NOT be trusted. Even in the safety of the Colt Vista, he was a formidable enemy, jumping at the windows and barking like a demon.
Trust me, he was horrifying. Farmer Watts scared the bejesus out of me, too. So not only did I have to contend with his demon dog, I also had to endure Farmer Watts' crazy-eye stare, which wouldn't have been so bad if he wasn't also carrying a rifle.
Aside from his demon dog, Farmer Watts had issues with...well, everything, but my favorite of all his issues was the unbelievable trouble he had with his cows. I should mention that these cows were not pets and so they were not named by Farmer Watts. I believe he used a number system, but we all know that numbers aren't entertaining. Thankfully Uncles, in their infinite wisdom and humor, named these poor creatures. There was Oranges, so named because it ate oranges, which is a bizarre food of choice for a cow apparently. [I'll be honest. I know next to nothing about farm animals and their mastication preferences.] Oranges eventually procreated and produced Son of Oranges.
The most prolific of Farmer Watts' cows was Crafty, named for her uncanny ability to out-run and out-maneuver Farmer Watts. She escaped the farm routinely but never actually ran away. I'd like to think it gave her immense joy to frolic through the woods and evade capture. Uncles would see her while they were hunting or doing work around the farm. Every time they pointed her out to Farmer Watts, she'd disappear before he got to her [much to the amusement of Uncles].
After several Crafty escapes, Farmer Watts was more annoyed than concerned. He didn't appreciate being put out, especially by a cow. Eventually he resorted to calling Uncles in an absolute rage: "SHE'S GONE NOCTURNAL!" Ridiculous. BUT TRUE.
Turns out, Crafty had been on the lam for a couple of days returning at night only to take a massive cow shit on the sidewalk in front of the house. Yes, folks. Crafty did indeed go nocturnal, and she was getting her revenge. Poo-style. Farmer Watts considered this to be a deliberate and insulting act. Obviously, Uncles peed themselves at his outburst. A nocturnal cow who shits on the sidewalk and then runs away again?! I don't think they believed him until they saw the fecal gift. A nocturnal cow seems completely absurd, but in the case of Crafty, it's 100% true.
I revel in her creativity. Farm animals, in my opinion, only have two acceptable options when it comes to revenge. [Yes, I actually put thought into farm animal revenge. You should have guessed it would go this way by now]:
If I were a cow, I would opt for the cow-sized shit. Think about it. Watching your master clean up your steaming pile of feces with a shovel while swearing at himself is bound to be hugely satisfying. Also, if you don't have enough animal friends, you can't organize a respectable rebellion OR stampede. Let's face it, half-assing something as extreme as a rebellion or stampede is just lazy and ineffective, not to mention that a rebellion/stampede requires the element of surprise. You only get one shot, so you have to make it count. I wonder if Crafty considered this before she opted for the mega shit.
I cannot begin to tell you how much I wish I was witness to this debacle. Damn me for not being a squirrel or a chipmunk!
Farmer Watts, armed to the teeth with guns and chewing tobacco, rode his ATV through the woods looking for Crafty. Meanwhile Crafty was at the top of the hill, in plain sight, staring at him. She somehow managed to hide from Farmer Watts even though there was snow on the ground and she was a half-ton black cow. By the time he spotted her and made his way to her location, Crafty had managed to disappear. I need someone to explain to me how that is possible. It's a fucking cow. They're huge, loud, and fairly slow. Not to mention that they are not the most agile of creatures so I'm not sure how she managed to out-maneuver and out-run a man on an ATV.
For your viewing pleasure, I have drawn a series of seamless and proportionally-accurate illustrations:
Clearly, the only plausible explanation is that she was trained by the KGB and sent here as a spy.
And that is the story of Crafty the Nocturnal Cow. I'd like to think she's out there somewhere, pretending to be a shadow.
After many hours of inhaling sludge air, basement muck, and Molson Canadian beer, we decided to call it a night. Whenever anyone in the family decides to "call it a night", it usually means it's time to decompress and make fun of each other. In other words, it's story time.
I have always loved story time, and I love it even more when Uncles tell stories from their childhood. It's like a little glimpse into a strange world of farmland, poorly placed children, and guns. I hope one day to record these yarns so that the world may know the wonder that is the Wolfe pack [so named because my grandmother had ten children. yes. TEN.]
Uncles grew up helping out at a family friend's farm. The owner, Farmer Watts, was not only completely out of his mind, but also he owned the most terrifying dog you've ever seen. [think werewolf/demon scary]. All of my memories of visiting the Watts farm involve an enormous, borderline rabid dog that constantly tried to bite my little kiddo face. As you can imagine, Sisters and I hated going there and would stay in the car at all costs. You'll recall that Big L was adamant about politeness and so she would drag Sisters and I out of the car to greet Farmer Watts. Near tears, we would say hello and then scamper back into the car as fast as humanly possible to avoid being seen by the dog. Although the three of us were working together to reach safe ground, we could never secure our perimeter. Too many factors. Too many risks. I am telling you that dog could NOT be trusted. Even in the safety of the Colt Vista, he was a formidable enemy, jumping at the windows and barking like a demon.
 |
| Note: this illustration does not do him justice. Many details have been repressed for my own sanity. |
Trust me, he was horrifying. Farmer Watts scared the bejesus out of me, too. So not only did I have to contend with his demon dog, I also had to endure Farmer Watts' crazy-eye stare, which wouldn't have been so bad if he wasn't also carrying a rifle.
Aside from his demon dog, Farmer Watts had issues with...well, everything, but my favorite of all his issues was the unbelievable trouble he had with his cows. I should mention that these cows were not pets and so they were not named by Farmer Watts. I believe he used a number system, but we all know that numbers aren't entertaining. Thankfully Uncles, in their infinite wisdom and humor, named these poor creatures. There was Oranges, so named because it ate oranges, which is a bizarre food of choice for a cow apparently. [I'll be honest. I know next to nothing about farm animals and their mastication preferences.] Oranges eventually procreated and produced Son of Oranges.
The most prolific of Farmer Watts' cows was Crafty, named for her uncanny ability to out-run and out-maneuver Farmer Watts. She escaped the farm routinely but never actually ran away. I'd like to think it gave her immense joy to frolic through the woods and evade capture. Uncles would see her while they were hunting or doing work around the farm. Every time they pointed her out to Farmer Watts, she'd disappear before he got to her [much to the amusement of Uncles].
After several Crafty escapes, Farmer Watts was more annoyed than concerned. He didn't appreciate being put out, especially by a cow. Eventually he resorted to calling Uncles in an absolute rage: "SHE'S GONE NOCTURNAL!" Ridiculous. BUT TRUE.
Turns out, Crafty had been on the lam for a couple of days returning at night only to take a massive cow shit on the sidewalk in front of the house. Yes, folks. Crafty did indeed go nocturnal, and she was getting her revenge. Poo-style. Farmer Watts considered this to be a deliberate and insulting act. Obviously, Uncles peed themselves at his outburst. A nocturnal cow who shits on the sidewalk and then runs away again?! I don't think they believed him until they saw the fecal gift. A nocturnal cow seems completely absurd, but in the case of Crafty, it's 100% true.
I revel in her creativity. Farm animals, in my opinion, only have two acceptable options when it comes to revenge. [Yes, I actually put thought into farm animal revenge. You should have guessed it would go this way by now]:
- Organize a rebellion/stampede.
- Take a massive dump somewhere outside the pens so that it HAS to be cleaned it up.
If I were a cow, I would opt for the cow-sized shit. Think about it. Watching your master clean up your steaming pile of feces with a shovel while swearing at himself is bound to be hugely satisfying. Also, if you don't have enough animal friends, you can't organize a respectable rebellion OR stampede. Let's face it, half-assing something as extreme as a rebellion or stampede is just lazy and ineffective, not to mention that a rebellion/stampede requires the element of surprise. You only get one shot, so you have to make it count. I wonder if Crafty considered this before she opted for the mega shit.
I cannot begin to tell you how much I wish I was witness to this debacle. Damn me for not being a squirrel or a chipmunk!
Farmer Watts, armed to the teeth with guns and chewing tobacco, rode his ATV through the woods looking for Crafty. Meanwhile Crafty was at the top of the hill, in plain sight, staring at him. She somehow managed to hide from Farmer Watts even though there was snow on the ground and she was a half-ton black cow. By the time he spotted her and made his way to her location, Crafty had managed to disappear. I need someone to explain to me how that is possible. It's a fucking cow. They're huge, loud, and fairly slow. Not to mention that they are not the most agile of creatures so I'm not sure how she managed to out-maneuver and out-run a man on an ATV.
For your viewing pleasure, I have drawn a series of seamless and proportionally-accurate illustrations:
Clearly, the only plausible explanation is that she was trained by the KGB and sent here as a spy.
And that is the story of Crafty the Nocturnal Cow. I'd like to think she's out there somewhere, pretending to be a shadow.
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