Old MacDonald had a farm…
Well, maybe it’s his. I never did catch a name, but Sigyn, thinking that a day in the country would “do us all some good,” called a friend who knows someone whose cousin’s brother’s sister-in-law has an uncle with a farm, and she arranged a visit for us all.
Oh, goody. Animal dander, pollen, and manure. Can’t wait.
So here we are. Take it all in, folks.
Barn: check. Silo: check. Tractor: check. Farmhouse, pig pen, and critters: check.
Stench that will never come out of my cloak: Check, oh check.
Sigyn, on the other hand, is over the moon. She and Muffy are cooing at the livestock in that special high, squeaky voice females reserve for anything small, furry, or otherwise “cute.”
Sigyn, that’s not “cute and friendly.” That is “smirking maniacally.” You know horses have big teeth, don’t you?
Sweetie, why don’t you come over here? There is some very nice…um…poultry. That’s it– come and see the chickens.
“Loki, can we…?”
“No, Sigyn. Sorry, but no. The farmer loves all his little chickens and wants to keep them. We are not taking any home with us.”
Heimdall’s pointy helmet, that was close. Luckily, I was able to distract her with swine. Sigyn thinks the “piggies” are “even nicer than horsies and chickies.”
She sees new friends. I see ham, roasts, and pork chops on the hoof. Hmmm. I wonder if the farmer counted his pigs recently…