So @trykster-maraca reminded me that i have not done a head count of the Cannimals recently. This is important as Hannipenguin has been known to ‘retire’ cast mates that he didn’t like (No,Hanni, put that down).
The cast so far…
Back row: Mason the pig, Margot Pony, Alana Zebra, Will Mongoose, Jack the bear
Middle row: Chilton the gingerbread man, Reba the tiger, Francis the (smol) great red dragon, Matthew the bird (he prefers hawk but he’s really a bird), Hannipenguin, Abigail penguin
Front left: Team Sassy Science Lab Mice Beverly Katz, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller
Guest star appearances (not in picture): Franklyn the Walrus, Bella Crawford the bear, Morgan Verger the floppy ear bunny, Lobster Will
I feel offended that you didn’t want goats! :p This takes place in The Grass isn’t Always Greener ‘verse despite that.
The way Slater does a
state fair is shocking.
“Wha…” Braydon stutters,
being pulled from the line he was standing in for fudge. “Slater, where are we
“It’s almost time for
“Yeah, they parade them
all out and hand out prizes.”
dutifully and let’s Slater pick out a front row seat to see the prize-winning pigs.
Which is ridiculous, because they all look the same. Big and pink and a little
But Slater is riveted when
they start coming out with their handlers, someone announcing their number and
farm and breeding. He likes number 213 the best, thinks he should be the
“No question, look at
Braydon thinks the pig
looks exactly like all the others.
“Okay,” Slater says,
after the blue ribbon is pinned to the pig he picked correctly to win. “The dairy
cows are at four, so we’ve got an hour before we need to be back here.”
“Really?” he groans. “Can’t
we just…go play some games? I’ll try to win you a teddy bear.”
“The cows are the last
thing today,” Slater says with a smile. “And then you can win me a teddy bear.”
Braydon accepts defeat
too easily. “What should we do now, then?”
Slater takes his hand
and tugs him along. He lets Braydon stop and get fudge before they carry on
toward a boxed off area swarming with kids.
“What’s this?” he mumbles,
mouth full of too much peanut butter fudge.
Sure enough there are
bunnies, and a miniature horse, and little lamb that might be the softest thing
Braydon’s ever touched. There’s a group of ducklings splashing around in a pool
and a donkey and a regular sized horse that doesn’t seem too happy to be there.
They get to the piglets last, all curled up in the hay that’s been laid down,
twitching a little in sleep.
“Pretty crazy that they
get so big, eh?”
“They’re cute,” Braydon
concedes, moving out of the way so a kid can stick their arms through the
“My grandparents had one
when I was younger. They named him Tobias. He was massive, ate everything in
“Why don’t you have one
now? On the farm, I mean.”
Slater shrugs. “No
reason, really. Why? You wanna adopt one together?” he jokes.
Braydon had been
thinking about getting another goat for their flock but a piglet would be
better. Something Slater…they don’t already
have. “Is there space for one?”
“We can think about it
“Please no, we’d have to
come up with a better name.”
“Tobias is a very
strong, sturdy name. Don’t knock it!”
Slater shoves a piece of
fudge in Braydon’s mouth and marches him out of the petting zoo, back toward
the area where the dairy cows are set to be paraded. Thank goodness the farm
already has some of those.
I guess it’s too late to live on the farm I guess it’s too late to move to a farm I guess it’s too late to start farming I guess it’s too late to begin farming I guess we’ll never have a farm I guess we’re too old to do farming I guess we couldn’t afford to buy a farm anyway I guess we’re not suited to being farmers I guess we’ll never have a farm now I guess farming is not in the cards now I guess Lewis wouldn’t make a good farmer I guess I can’t expect we’ll ever have a farm now I guess I’ll have to give up all my dreams of being a farmer I guess I’ll never be a farmer now We couldn’t get a farm anyway though Allen Ginsberg got one late in life Maybe someday I’ll have a big garden I guess farming is really out Feeding the pigs and the chickens, walking between miles of rows of crops I guess farming is just too difficult We’ll never have a farm Too much work and still to be poets Who are the farmer poets Was there ever a poet who had a self-sufficient farm Flannery O’Connor raised peacocks And Wendell Berry has a farm Faulkner may have farmed a little And Robert Frost had farmland And someone told me Samuel Beckett farmed Very few poets are real farmers If William Carlos Williams could be a doctor and Charlie Vermont too, Why not a poet who was also a farmer Of course there was Brook Farm And Virgil raised bees Perhaps some poets of the past were overseers of farmers I guess poets tend to live more momentarily Than life on a farm would allow You could never leave the farm to give a reading Or to go to a lecture by Emerson in Concord I don’t want to be a farmer but my mother was right I should never have tried to rise out of the proletariat Unless I can convince myself as Satan argues with Eve That we are among a proletariat of poets of all the classes Each ill-paid and surviving on nothing Or on as little as one needs to survive Steadfast as any farmer and fixed as the stars Tenants of a vision we rent out endlessly