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“food, food, food” The slow delivery and bass voice was what Zooey had imagined Old Bertie would sound like if he could speak, though this didn’t come as any relief when she actually heard him speak.
As usual, Pepé brought up the rear.
“ohmygoodnesslookatallthefoodthismustbethatholidaythatsomepeoplecelebrateattheendoftheyearorthedayofmybirthdayoneofthosebutwhocaresasiwilleatitallandthenhavesecondsandthirdsandfourthsandfifths” Although Pepé was slow, he had a motor mouth on him, he could seemingly speak a mile a minute even though he couldn’t travel anywhere near those speeds.
Zooey left the scattered food and fled, thinking that a spot of glass blowing would ease her mind and free her from the vocal animals. Her haven of glass blowing was an outdoor shed lit mostly by a single dangling lightbulb. The lightbulb wasn’t the only source of light in the shed though. Behind a sheet of blue canvas, because such canvases are always blue for some reason, was another light. A high intensity heat lamp to cultivate her extensive marijuana crop. Zooey’s parents weren’t to blame for her love of animals, but they were to blame for the extra ‘o’ in her name, you see, when she was named, her father was rather stoned and after writing the first ‘o’ he found it so pleasant and enjoyable that he was compelled to write a second. If it wasn’t for Zooey’s mother, who was only marginally less stoned than the father, then Zooey would have many more ‘o’s in her name. Her parents were the ones to teach her how to cultivate a successful crop of the illicit substance having brought her up to do so from an early age. They forbade her from smoking the substance until she was of a more suitable age, there was no point in doing so though as the amount of second hand smoke that she inhaled growing up more than made up for it.
As is well known, the countryside provides ample space for such grow operations to thrive. The focus of the police force is so heavily on the cities and ports that the countryside gets neglected and thus large grow operations continue in relative peace and quiet. Rural policing is more concerned with cattle rustling and people trimming hedgerows that don’t belong to them than large-scale drug production, after all, marijuana is a plant and therefore could easily be considered a crop, albeit with more adverse side effects. This isn’t to say that Zooey was a drug baron or held a monopoly on cannabis distribution, she simply grew the stuff mostly for her own consumption and to include in baked goods at the local village fetes. Her baked delights always went down a treat at such occasions, even the village vicar was partial to the odd brownie or two – often several at a time – because the proceeds typically went to the church roof, which was in constant need of repair, the vicar turned a blind eye to the more radical ingredients, he probably didn’t even know they were there and determined that the side effects were a result of some higher power reaching out to him.
Cultivating and nurturing her plants was as relaxing as glass-blowing to Zooey, smoking the plants was even more relaxing though. Most of her plants were in immaculate condition as she often pruned them to perfection. She had multiple batches in various stages of curing and pulled a fully cured bud from one of her many containers. After crafting a most excellent zoot/joint/biffta/spliff/Scooby (whatever the kids are calling it these days) she set about lighting it to calm her cluttered mind. With each puff she felt herself melt into herself as her muscles relaxed and her mind got sent into a blender.
“Cor, that’s a funky smell” Mr. Wuggles had appeared in the shed, he often went there when his partner Mrs. Wuggles wasn’t looking. “Do you think you could blow a little my way please? Don’t tell the Missus” Zooey was too dazed to care about the talking cat and was more than happy to share her bliss with her feline companion. I’m sure PETA or the RSPCA would have something to say about that, but if they did they should note that the cat did ask for it and was rather polite in so doing.
“Meee-OW! That’s the stuff” Mr. Wuggles’ tail went from upright to a more relaxed downward position, he purred softly as he inhaled the smoke. “The missus don’t like me hanging around here but I tell her that its good for the joints. She don’t believe me. So’s I tell her to come here and try it but she refuses. I do love her but she can be a little narrow minded when it comes these things”
“Tell me about it” Zooey had since accepted the notion of a talking cat fully “Some people just refuse to see the benefits even when it’s scientifically proven. There’s a reason why it’s used for medicinal purposes”
“True, but that is in the US, and they simply pump any slightly hyper active kid with drugs over there and then charge out the tail for the privilege” Mr. Wuggles was surprisingly well informed about the American healthcare system.
“True words” Zooey reflected and instinctively reached out to stroke the cat who was more than happy for the attention.
“Meeeeoowwww that’s nice” Mr. Wuggles certainly enjoyed a stroke every now and then as do most cats until they find someone better to pester.
A couple of hours had passed and Zooey was feeling fully relaxed when she returned into the main house. She brought in a rather large container of cured marijuana to include in the mixture for the upcoming village fete. She had a large batch to make and thankfully had the following day free to whip them up. The plan was to bake her specialty brownies, a few varieties of muffin and a beef stroganoff using her home grown ingredients to spice things up. As she had already slept through most of the day, Zooey was relatively wide awake, albeit rather heavily ‘medicated’ therefore she decided that she might as well begin baking the brownies as they were pretty simple and didn’t necessarily need a clear head to create.
“Stay away from the chocolate, Bertie” Old Bertie was eyeing up the brownie mix and eagerly licking his chops.
“I know it won’t go down well but that doesn’t stop it smelling good” said the canine.
“If you eat this then it will give you a nasty tummy and I don’t want to clean up the resulting mess”
“What if I lick the bowl?”
“Heythatbowllickingismineicaneatchocolateandfeelfineanddandythankyouverymuchyouarenothavingityouhear!”
“Oh Pepé, do shut up!” Zooey was not in the mood for rapid conversation, her brain couldn’t keep up with regular paced conversation in the state it was in.
“yesmissshuttingupnowmiss” Despite being a motor-mouth, Pepé knew not to upset his mistress, you don’t bite the hand that feeds after all, something he learnt the hard way.
The brownie mixture was spread evenly in a tray and placed in the fridge to set. The mixture could make at least 60 brownies judging from the size of the tray. The muffins were also pretty simple to make so Zooey set aside the ingredients on the kitchen counter and then decided that she was too stoned to make anything more so went to sleep.
The local rooster heralded the morning, as did the rising sun, causing the rooster and the sun to be in a constant state of competition to see who could herald the new day first. This was especially difficult on the days the clocks changed. On that particular day, the rooster had lost out to the sun because it was nursing a rather bad hangover and had to strut his way to his perch after a sordid night with whichever hen was the flavour of that week. Zooey had a hangover of a different sort, the kind where she hadn’t drank but still felt the remnants of the previous night’s substances clouding her mind. She couldn’t process any of the dialogue coming from her pets, if indeed she registered it at all. Zooey knew she had planned to make some muffins and so went into the kitchen only to find that all of the ingredients were strewn across the floor and in various stages of being eaten. Pepé was tucked into his shell beside the chocolate chips and Old Bertie had blue lips from the blueberries. The usual suspects. At least Bertie hadn’t eaten any of the chocolate, not that Pepé would’ve given him the chance.
“Bertie! Pepé! It’s always you two isn’t it!?” Zooey was mildly annoyed at the animals, not in the same way that she would be annoyed at a human because for some reasons animals always got off lightly when it came to such things.
“You… you can talk?”
“Course I can, you muppet. You didn’t seem to be alarmed last night”
“I thought I was just high”
“You probably still are a bit, your eyes do look a little red”
“Probably” Zooey couldn’t disagree with the dog because she still was feeling the effects of her pungent plants. “I guess I’ll have to go to the supermarket to get some more” The last statement wasn’t aimed at any of the pets in particular, it was the kind of statement that is often said out loud even though there is no reason for it to be. We all do it from time to time.
One major disadvantage about living in the countryside is that most places commonly associated with civilisation require the use of a car to get to. It would be impossible to live in the countryside without a driving license. Even if one found themselves with a large country estate but no driving license they would find themselves walking for miles to get to the nearest bus stop because for whatever reason there isn’t any public transport in the countryside either. The supermarket was one such example of a car journey away, Zooey arrived after a 20 minute drive to the nearest such establishment by the name of FenceMart.
“Clean up on aisle 69” The supermarket employee on the speaker announced with a sultry voice, the fact that this supermarket even had 69 aisles was astonishing and it was likely that the announcer had waited years to make such an announcement, probably practicing which accent to use in his spare time in front of a mirror while in his underwear. Supermarket employees can be weirdos.
Zooey took a basket and thought it best to avoid aisle 69, not because of the apparent clean up but because she had no need to buy any wicker furniture. She headed straight for the fresh fruits aisle for the blueberries and then to the chocolate aisle for the chocolate chips. She lingered for a moment as she considered purchasing five chocolate rolls for the price of twelve but decided it was best not too and that she was only considering it because she had the munchies. It was a bargain though. As she pressed on towards the checkouts she accidently bumped into another shopper.
“Sorry there lovely” said the kindly old lady who was almost bowled over by Zooey’s basket.
“No, no. I’m sorry, totally my fault” Was what Zooey thought she said. “Woof! Bark! Moo Moo!” Was what actually came out of her mouth causing the little old lady to throw a quizzical look in her direction and then continue to hobble along the aisle while occasionally turning back to tut at Zooey.
There was a self-service section at the supermarket, but Zooey always preferred the personal touch provided by a human checkout operator. With the self-service checkouts there always seemed to be unexpected items in the bagging areas.
“Good morning madam” This checkout operator was obviously new as she was far too jolly and clearly hadn’t had her will to live drained from her yet.
“Quack” was Zooey’s response.
The checkout operator decided not to continue the conversation any further for fear of her safety. She diligently scanned the blueberries, chocolate chips and the random items picked up along the way that were on special offer and conveniently placed on the end of the aisles to entice shoppers into thinking that they were getting a good deal and to therefore purchase them. These superfluous items included: a cordless drill that was only 59.99 (excluding VAT), buy one get one free on stale bananas, a bargain bucket of pig entrails and a spatula that came with three different kinds of holster one of which being for a ladle.
“Do you have a loyalty card?” Bless the checkout operator, she asked with such enthusiasm. Before long she would be lamenting the very question after having asked it a gazillion times.
“Oink, oink, squeak” Zooey handed the card over, eager to collect the points which would go towards discounts on more expensive versions of the products she usually buys even though the usual purchases would still work out cheaper than the expensive versions even with the discount applied.
Most people upon leaving a supermarket with a large carpark would forget where they parked, Zooey was no different. She stood with her bags of shopping and examined the carpark to locate her pick-up truck. It was troubling that it took her five minutes to find her truck despite there being only three parked vehicles. Nothing noteworthy happened on the return journey home. There was a naked person walking a tightrope between two tractors going at full speed while ploughing a field, but Zooey didn’t notice this and so no further explanation is needed. She pulled up onto her driveway, narrowly avoiding a sunbathing Mrs. Wuggles and then took her shopping into the house. Why she bought a cordless drill she had no idea, for that matter, the pig entrails were a mystery too.
Just as she had unloaded her shopping, another pick-up truck entered her driveway. It was the farmer from the previous day, however, that day he had ditched the ruff in favour of a medieval corset and a top hat.
“Arr Miss. Zooey, thought I’d say my thanks for ‘elpin me on the farm t’other day” The farmer was carrying a bag that he proceeded to hand over to Zooey. “I know’s you looked over are Daisy so I thought it only right that you should have the prime cuts of ‘er” Zooey graciously accepted the meat as she had forgotten all about it for her beef stroganoff, beef being the key ingredient surprisingly. The abattoirs in those parts were very efficient as Zooey had only yesterday had her arm elbow deep in Daisy’s rectum and was now holding a sizeable cut of meat from the very same cow. That being said, a lot of cows have the name Daisy and so it could well have been another bovine to carry the mantle.
“Ruff Ruff” Zooey beamed as she thought she expressed her gratitude.
“No no my dear, the ruff was a little suffocating if you catch my meanin’” His meaning was pretty clear in that the ruff was quite tight and making it hard to breathe and thus suffocating him, it wasn’t hard to catch his meaning and so it was rather odd to say such a thing in the first place.
“Neigh, whinny, neigh moo moo” She thought she had paid him a compliment and so was pretty confused when the farmer looked at her in a peculiar manner.
“Are you feelin’ alright?” He asked.
“Cock-a-doodle-do” Which the farmer took to meaning that Zooey was feeling perfectly well because it was an expression that he often used when climaxing with Mrs. Farmer.
“Ah I see, very well then. You enjoy that meat, see you at the fete tomorrow!” The farmer rapidly fired a wink in Zooey’s direction and made to leave, he likely had urgent farm errands to carry out, most likely involving manure as often is the case.
Thankfully, Zooey didn’t keep any cows as pets because they likely wouldn’t have been too pleased at seeing one of their fellow kin being turned into a stroganoff. To be sure it was a mighty fine looking stroganoff, even with the additional ingredients added to the stuffing and glaze. Zooey made certain that she placed the stroganoff away from her prying pets. Old Bertie was eyeing up the stroganoff throughout the preparation and licking his chops, even Mrs. Wuggles looked on eagerly, Mr. Wuggles was likely stoned and would’ve eaten anything he could get his hands on.
“Could I have a little piece of that meat?” Old Bertie at least had the decency to ask, most dogs would just dive straight in.
Zooey leapt back.
“You… you can talk?”
“Yes, we established this already, now could you please give me a piece of that meat?”
“Oh, yes I suppose so” Zooey had smoked an awful lot of marijuana in the past few days as her crop had recently blossomed and so her memory was a little hazy to say the least. She handed an offcut of beef to Old Bertie who had a little difficulty in chewing the meat but still managed to devour it.
“Tah very muchly”
“You’re welcome”
“Have you seen that wretched husband of mine?” Mrs. Wuggles asked of Zooey.
“Not since last night, have you checked the shed?”
“Of
course, I knew he’d be there. No good for his mind I tell you, all that wacky baccy!” Mrs. Wuggles stormed off in the direction of the shed likely to give Mr. Wuggles a jolly good seeing to! For a cat she sure could be a bitch.
Speaking of getting stoned, there wasn’t much else left for Zooey to do that day. She had made the muffins in good time as she had had plenty of practice over the years, the secret was in the blueberries, and the copious amounts of cannabis of course. Due to the phenomenal harvest that year, she had an abundant supply of the stuff and so was very generous when applying the hidden ingredient to her baked goods, the vicar was in for a treat.