Caught up in the web of “accidental” accidents

Last year I kept having these accidents. I accidentally traded two goats for five, somehow brought home a miniature donkey in a minivan, and said yes to another cat with super sad eyes. Two pigs showed up at my house on their own; I could see their ribs. I swear, all I did was feed them.

So far, nobody is buying any of this. I was starting to wonder if this is what my midlife crisis looks like. I asked a “retired” friend, and he said I was too young, so I asked if there was such a thing as a pre-midlife crisis; he conceded that if I really wanted to have a midlife crisis, I should go right ahead.

I had to laugh when I saw Charlotte’s Web was on a school’s banned book list. I hope it made it clear to people just how ridiculous book banning is. I confess that I somewhat appreciate book banning because whenever something is banned, sales and library checkouts tend to increase. As they say: all exposure is good exposure.

Thinking about Charlotte’s Web, it dawned on me that it wasn’t a midlife crisis after all; perhaps these book banners had a point. Could it be that all “my accidents” were ultimately linked to reading about talking animals? What can I say? In the fifth grade I fell in love with Wilbur, and when my tenth birthday came along, I asked for a pig.

What a good sport my mom was; she took me to a pig farm, and a man who looked exactly like what I expected asked me which one I wanted. He grabbed her by the leg and threw her in a burlap sack. She was a strong little thing, resisting and grunting the whole way home. I held on for dear life with a huge smile on my face.

I named her Big Mama. Give me a break; I was ten.

It’s not like Charlotte’s Web was the only book that had an impact on me. Oh, how I longed to live in the hundred-acre woods with Winnie the Pooh and his gang. Then there was If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, Corduroy, Clifford the Big Red Dog, Where the Red Fern Grows, Bunnicula, and don’t get me started on George Orwell’s Animal Farm.

I admit last week in Magdalena was challenging caring for all my accidents. With temperatures dipping into the single digits, all I really wanted to do was bring every single goat, pig, chicken, duck, donkey, dog and cat inside. I could vividly imagine my beloved turkey girl, Sweet Pea, nestled comfortably in my lap on our oversized couch. The warmth of the crackling wood stove filling the room, creating a cozy atmosphere as everyone gathered closely.

I guess that is what you call the long-term impact of reading children’s books about talking animals. My colorful imagination is evidence of the damage it can do to a person.

Don’t worry, I do have a practical side and I wondered if I could attach a barn to the side of my house. Then I could open my bedroom window, say goodnight to all the critters, and make sure everyone was warm. I know all you respectable ranchers are rolling your eyes right about now, and rightfully so. What’s next sweaters for your pigs?

So, you all have been warned: think twice before you read Llama Llama Red Pajamas to your kiddos. There is no telling what consequences it’ll have on their imaginations.