The Dr. says I'm not cooperating when I'm rocking the table while she's operating

Forgot to do something (anything, really) with the roast left out to thaw. Now there is no dinner plan for the night. After prepping the roast (slits for garlic; seared roast; a bed of onions, carrots, and sweet potatoes; hard cider for wetness), it was decided that a picnic is in order.

Ordered sandwiches at the deli; one no onions, one no mustard; received both.

on both. Discovered this in the park.

Back to the store.

Lady says, "Oh. (checks the order slip to see if we're lying {we're not}) I'll refund that for you."

!?

I don't understand. How will that kill them? Oh... starvation, I see.

No, please make them again. Right. Puzzled look. Pause. "Oh. OK?"

Back to the park. Did I mention it takes 10 minutes to make a sandwich? Each time, apparently. For the math challenged, that's 40 minutes of standing around. Daylight's a wasting.

Cell phone rings. It's an emergency (of course it is, it's an emergency phone). Somebody's goose needs cooked.

Uh, I guess it has a broken leg. Sounds synonymous to me, though.

Discussed the exorbitant (really, fair and competitive, but come on... it's dinner. If you're going to spend hundreds of dollars on a bird, shouldn't you get to fly someplace fancy and eat foie gras? It's a GOOSE!) costs (and ridiculous after care) of fixing a broken leg on a goose. The lady seems to think it's some sort of pet (it doesn't even have a name).

Picnic moves to the animal hostel to warm up the x-ray machine.

Half done and someone calls to say their llama is preggers and needs a c-section. Right. OK. When can you be here? Oh, that's perfect... should be almost done with the goose by then.


In comes the llama. 20 minutes later than expected. OK, maybe she was right on time - she was later than I expected. Somehow. It's my story, and I'll tell it how I want.

The llama has already birthed one of the brood. Owner says, "Can you check if that one's alive?" Sure. The head is shaped like it belongs on a primate of some sort (unusual on a llama, I'm told), but we can check. It's dead. Hydrocephalus. Brain too big for head that's too soft to control it. Kinda.

Did you know llamas can carry multiple feti (fetuses, foetuses. What? Like you know the right way to do it)? They can. Most on record is 8. It's true. Saw it on the TeeVee.

So here I am, one lama baby (cria, duh) under each arm (both are dead) while the doctor is pulling the last out. This one is alive. Luckily an actual trained professional is along for the adventure and the doctor hands the live one to her.

I don't know if it's my lack of matching chromosomes or my lack of training, but somehow, I'm not allowed to handle live things unless no one else thinks they're alive (or likely to live long) or they're really, really alive. Crias are not either of those when they first come out.

Crias, by the way, get heavy if you hold them under your arms long enough; I wish someone would tell me where to put them.

Quit giggling, you.

The people came, collected their llamas (yeah, one baby lived), paid their bill (surprisingly enough), had dinner (and dessert), some cognac, cigars, a bit of chit chat, and drove home.

Somebody please tell where where to put these damn llama babies! They're getting heavy.

And stinky.

If someone doesn't help me figure this out soon, I think I know what kind of roast I'll be having tomorrow night - goose stuffed llama. Yumm?