What happens next is all a blur, but you remember “fist” can be a verb.

Last night my girlfriend careens into the driveway and opens the door to her truck and says, “Get in.” “OK.”, says I.
What? You expected a lengthy discussion?

So begins an hour long drive to the top of a mountain. I swear to you, I can hear the dueling banjos playing from the woods we are so far from civilization. And me without my gat. Luckily she’s a dark belt in several disciplines (and I’m off to get my green belt later this week), so I feel safe enough, right?
So I spend a couple of hours in the middle of nowhere so cold that my balls have decided to take up a new career as ovaries. She’s plenty warm over there, cozied up to a Shetland pony or two, but I’m keeping my distance from the people who live here. No one I know of has ever caught “stupid”, but I do not want to break new ground. These are the people to catch it from; it oozes out of their pores.

That’s not altogether fair. The kids seem like they could be cured - with intensive retraining. I’m not taking any chances, though.

About an hour into the visit: The lady has been talking to the wyvern doctor about the 1000 (it’s an approximate number, I didn‘t actually take a head count, but I could not see over the sea of them) dogs she has; telling her that they are all rescues that are not adoptable based on ”aggression” and/or “viciousness”.

Any guess what happens next?

Yes, Boom?

That’s right, sir: One of them magically looses from his containment and bounds towards us like we are rabbits trying to escape their proper fate. Note: this no “mouse” of a dog. Some folks I know name dogs this big things like “bear”. I think the kid says it’s a mastiff/shepherd/rott/golden retriever/ogre mix. So, it charges up to us; we crouch and hold out the limbs we are least fond of (Well, she did. I hid behind her. Hey, she’s the one who dragged me up here. I was just chillin’.); the dog crouches all the way to the ground; barks; and bounds away - chasing phantom butterflies. It was… cute.

Twelve hours later: I’m standing out in the cold. Yet again. Did I mention the boys have permanently set up shop inside my abdominal cavity? The bright side of having ovaries is that I finally qualify for financial aid. And, as a MTF transgender person, I’m a protected minority, now. Suddenly I love the ADA.

My girlfriend is now fisting a farm animal. All the way over the elbow. And whispering nice things to it. I, on the other hand, am sharing a look with an ancient rancher that means, to me, “Yuck”. I think I see dollar signs in his eyes, though.

In between, I ate fish for dinner.

How did my life come to this? This is what I get for setting off on an “adventure”, I suppose - more adventures.