Sunday, December 11, 2011
The power of the sneer
From my horse mother I inherited the power to make my nostril large. Very large. Large enough to inhale great breaths of desert wind, to fuel the sprint of my hotblooded forebears, to power the raging furnace of my athlete's heart.
From my donkey father I inherited the power to make my other nostril small. Very small. Small enough to hide in tufted whiskers, to recede into a face so full of age-old wisdom that it might blend, disappearing, into the rocky cliffs of some ancestral homeland.
I use this power to sneer. It is best done when dinner is late, or when FarmWife says, "goodbye, Fenny," or when she asks me to try on my Santa Hat for another costume fitting.
Note the persuasive and resounding "ick" which I am able to wordlessly convey with this gesture.