A story for my cousin

My cousin's birthday is coming up, and I can't think of an appropriate gift for her. I've already given her my ear listening to her troubles, numerous shirts she's cried all over, and my heart went to her long ago, so I don't have much left. The best I could do is write her one of my dumb stories.

It's late at night and the goats are braying in the backyard. Wait a moment... goats don't bray, they bleat. Maybe it's the donkeys making all that noise. Hee hawing and shit while pretending to be goats. Never trust a donkey. They may be donkeys wearing goat's clothing.

Those donkeys are sneaky little fuckers..

But what do I know? I don't keep barnyard animals in my backyard. They would just annoy me until I started shooting at them which would nullify having them in the first place. I can just imagine the scene...dead animals all over the yard and me standing there with a gun looking somewhat dazed trying to figure out what the hell just happened and what the bloody fuck I'm going to do with these carcasses. The garbage man isn't going to haul them away and I can't eat them. Who in their right
mind would eat a donkey? A really sick twisted mother fucker, that's who.

I let these thoughts drift from my head like the forgotten piece of my barn that a donkey just hee-hawed and gleefully dropped kicked into the Nether regions of my yard. Donkeys have no regard for anything.

Jesus.

I have donkeys on my mind. I know they're evil. Apparently they can posses you and force you to write about them instead of just shooting at their annoying asses. No pun intended.


I'm trying to write a story for my baby cousin and I keep babbling about donkeys. Maybe I'm just trying to delay the fact that I have no idea where to begin and not a clue where it's going to end. That's not unusual, I never know how my stories are going to end up...they just kind of happen and end up somewhere that surprises even me.

Anyways...

It's late at night and the goats are braying....I mean bleating. That's just what goats do. They're pretty much useless unless you like goat milk and who the hell likes goat milk?

Baby Girl is lying on her bed wide awake wishing for sleep, but all the previous day's troubles are running through her head making sleep impossible. So much drama and so few hours in the day.

Staring at the ceiling, her mind is a constant whirl of activity. Sleep seems an unobtainable goal.

She spies "Dog" on her dresser. He's just an under stuffed stupid piece of fuzz and fluff with big floppy ears and an unimaginative name that a cousin gave to her. It doesn't matter. She needs someone to talk to and she was told that Dog is a good listener. He doesn't talk back, he just listens and keeps secrets very well.

Unlike donkeys. They don't listen very well and then try to kick your head across the yard like a soccer ball in some sort of perverted Mayan game.

Dog listens to her lamentations, silent as always. It probably doesn't help his vocal skills that he has no mouth. I tore it from his face when I was small. Why? I have no idea. Probably because it was there.

Baby Girl keeps whispering to Dog and slowly the sweet shroud of sleep overcomes her sneaking in like fog crossing a winter's landscape. Baby girl is fast asleep and Dog is keeping a silent vigil.

He can't help it, the poor fucker has no mouth.

Lost in the fog of forgetfulness and fantasy she dreams she's older. Not old, but older then she is now. No one is telling her what to do and she has a handsome prince by her side.

Dog frowns.

He knows that life doesn't work out the way we want it to. Sooner or later a donkey is going to come curiously clomping across the landscape to kick your dreams as hard as he can. It's inevitable.

Suddenly the scene changes and she's surrounded by 3 screaming children and she's all alone. They're all hers and her prince has disappeared. She loves them all dearly, but she wonders "Is this my life?" This is it? What happened?"

Then she sees Dog sitting forlorn and lonely on a dresser. She grabs him, curls up on the bed and once again whispers her secrets in his floppy ear. And Dog listens...

Wake up Baby Girl...it was all just a dream.

Dog listens and he speaks softly. You have to listen very close, but if you try hard enough you can hear him. Deep inside you know the right answers to every question and Dog knows that. Hold him close, talk to him, listen to your instincts and Dog. He will never lead you wrong.

He's a pretty smart little guy and he's there to protect you when I can't.

And he hates donkeys. God, does he hate donkeys.