The Good Life

“I have developed an acute sense of dark humour as a defense mechanism. Without it, I would be driven mad and become terminally depressed by the endless encounter with human evil and perversity.”

This morning (what morning is to me) clad in my pyjamas I went to pick bram berries at the bottom of the garden. Reaching the gate that separated my land to the next property I saw that the pile of bricks which I loosely stapled the other day next to a cyclone wire fence had tumbled down and some of them were leaning against the chain link barrier, and I thought: the goats were at it again.

Normally, there was a piece of corrugated metal roofing behind the fence to keep the animals reaching my plants. They tend to eat everything that grows higher than the barricade. That morning the metal plate was nowhere to be seen.

Approaching nearer I saw that there were two elderly gentlemen standing by the gate behind the wires, so I pivoted for so many obvious reasons; one of them is I don’t like morning people… or mornings… or people. But it was too late, they have seen me already.

The conversation went like this:

“Hey, miss… come here!” One of them commanded. I don’t care much about being treated that way but for the sake of peace I walked back and asked:

“What it is?”

“Don’t be so stupid. You did this!” He said pointing at the fallen bricks.

“You have done this on purpose. I’ve seen you do it! Yes I did!” And he begun jumping up and down excitedly.

To his partner he said: “Call the police at this very moment. I am a witness. I will give a signed statement to back up your claim.”

I was flabbergasted (which happens rarely) and I said to the guy: “Why should I or anybody do such nonsense?”

Before the madman could give an answer, his companion sent him to the other side of the property without really saying anything except inclining his head to that direction.    

Then the good guy started straightening the bricks, putting them one by one through the hole in the cyclone wires to my side of the fence, telling me stories about keeping goats may seem romantic but it is a lot of work because the damn animals are very hard to contain. He told me he found two of his chickens between my compost heaps and greenhouse the other day. He didn’t realize they could go over so he put them away he said. I think that is his way of apologizing for what happened and acknowledging his part of the problem.

His psychotic friend came back and helped him erect a new fence to keep away his romantic herd from feasting on my plants without further comments. I said goodbye to them and wish them a wonderful day ahead. Half way through my garden, the flood gate of heaven had opened and let mighty torrents of rain fell over our little corner of paradise. Buckets after buckets spilling over as if there is no tomorrow. I sought refuge in my gazebos.

From a distance, I heard outburst of colourful words, followed by string of profanities, more swearing from both gentlemen then howl of pain; seemed one of them had dropped something on someone or somebody fell on something.

I smiled. Sometimes Karma doesn’t get stuck in the traffic and comes sooner than expected.