A dingo ate my baby. A good story (well not for the baby). Or how about my dog ate my homework. A classic tale.
But this story is better.
This is the story of a goat. A goat that ate my undies!
Kurban Bayram officially gets underway tomorrow and there are a lot of goats and sheep in the village unwillingly ready to be sacrificed. The herder will parade the animals through the village on their way to the kurban kesme yerleri (authorised sacrifice abbatoir) although here in the village it is not unusual for people to purchase an animal as the herder goes by for sacrifice in their garden or a nearby park.
Usually the herder will not go down our street. Between My Hurley Dog and the Rottweiler next door the crazed barking sends the already nervous animals a little deli and they tend to run amok but today the herder had such a large contingent of animals that he was trying to control that a small number did wander into our street and start chewing on the weeds and grass outside my home. Unbeknownst to me I might add. I was still in bed. Having sweet dreams. Maybe about The Hot Groom … or Brad Pitt. Or both. Oh my!
Now to the story about my undies.
I did a load of washing last night. I am a good Turkish Housewife (alright that’s not entirely true). I put the washing on the line and then sat down to watch an episode of Stranger Things (love that show). I then went to bed to have my aforementioned sweet dreams. Of course I woke to the sound of My Hurley Dog barking like a maniac on the terrace so I went out to corral him back inside. I hung over the railing to have a squiz at what he was barking at. It could have been Grey Cat. My Hurley Dog hates Grey Cat. Grey Cat keeps sniffing around my two remaining stray bitch cats trying to have his way with them. It wasn’t Grey Cat. There was, however, a bunch of goats wandering around in our little garden but that wasn’t what caught my attention. No. What caught my attention was one particular goat. It was a ridiculously cute brown goat (seriously how can they kill these darlings) and it was bouncing around below me chewing on something. It seemed quite happy unbeknownst of his forthcoming fate. Wait a minute. What’s that he’s eating? I looked behind me at my clothes line. FML! The line was definitely heavier last night! What’s missing? A t-shirt. Yes, and what else – Oh bugger! My lacy black undies. The expensive ones. The ones I had just brought back from Sydney. The ones that are used for, ahem, special occasions.
I ran down stairs to collect the pieces that had fallen off the line and to try and retrieve my special occasion undies (although I can’t imagine them possibly being salvageable). There was a tustle. The little brown goat won and wandered off to meet his maker happily chewing on the remnants of my undies. His last meal before he becomes Goat Stew.
In the meantime The Turk had woken up and was sitting on the terrace below mine having a çay. And a cigarette. And a laugh.
I turned and gave him the finger, “If I don’t get these undies back you’re never getting laid again!”
I don’t think he really cares.
So yeah Kurban Bayraminiz kutlu olsen!
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