Farmersonly.com too far afield

They sure got mad when they noticed her focusing intently on that farmersonly.com ad.

“We have better plans for you than that!” An arranged marriage was unavoidable.”When you are old enough. When you’re ready.”

Well, speaking delicately, an indisputable sign said she was now ready.

Fielding her dreams.(USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)

Enter the all business Matchmaker with her endless list of questions:

• Did she prefer indoors or outdoors? (That got her hopes up.)
• Could she settle for walking as entertainment as well as exercise?
• Was she an early riser?
• Have trouble falling to sleep?
• How did she feel about polygamy?
• Could she be polite and patient with the elderly? Even a fussy ancient auntie?
• Big dogs scare her?
• Does she like cats? (Not one laugh when she snorted, “Yes, for breakfast and lunch.” No. They scowled. A lot.)

After enduring all the questioning, she still wasn’t dismissed to go out and play. Maybe her days of play were over.

They ordered her to walk back and forth. Forth and back. And again.

A bit of discussion. Perhaps she was just tired, the Matchmaker said – not kindly. Suggestions were tossed at her. “Hold your head up. Shoulders back. Walk proudly. Think ballerina, not clodhopper.”

Finally, she was able to sit.

And that was criticized, too. Demurely cross feet at the ankle, they said. Sit still. Don’t fidget.

She sought a place. One where no matter how you walked, it was perfect. (USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)

It was hard to feel worthy of any match by then.

Trying to listen through a thickening fog of doubts, she knew she must try. No choice.

They had such hopes for her.

Now in the car, she vibrated with nervousness.

Afraid to look at the world blurring past the windows.

Glancing at the Matchmaker for some sign of approval and encouragement.

What she got was a flow of words about the area like a travelogue.

Occasionally, a directive to sit still and not scratch. Especially not scratch. “A lady of quality does not scratch.”

But she was only a little lady. And only on the inside. How she manage?

The house was so large. Her steps small. The matchmaker did not rush her. She was grateful for this small kindness.

Oh, the parents. Must make a good impression! Was her collar straight, she fretted. She didn’t dare reach to check.

Simply staged. Costumed for the performance. Could she field enough questions to gain their approval?(USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)

A gracious welcome inside. Oh, so warm and bright.

She sat as prettily as possible. Head up. Hoping her hair was shiny enough. Her eyes sparkling at all the windows overlooking the backyard.

Still. Show a calm disposition. A small smile. Not too big, they had said. Certainly not toothy.

Behind her there was a click, click, click across the hardwood floor.

Oh, that must be the picky old  maiden aunt. Oh.

The body language of the others told her this was who would decide her fate.

The Grand Dame paced back and forth not taking eyes off the her.

Looking down that long nose.

The soft, not too stern, voice surprised her “What do they call you?”

Shifting unavoidably out of nervousness. “They call me Bella, or Ella, or I answer to just about anything if there’s food – and a kind word.

She blurted it out! Ruined everything. If wishes were horses, she’d be fields away. (USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)

Silence. Seemed like it lasted forever.

Like a magic spell being spun.

Then, with great grace,  a courtly downward dog bow as the resident German Shepherd gently said, “Ella. Enchanted. Your happily ever after begins today. Welcome forever home.”

You passed the interview. We choose you. Fear no more. Your dreams not so far afield. ©

Molly Malamute is pleased to share this from her BFF, The German, who in her infinite wisdom, has selected a young RC-in-Training for her Realm.

“A Mini-Me,” she boasts. “Reminds me of myself. That Mo cat lump is simply too befuddled and only thinks of food, the addict. Must be barked at watched every minute and kept exercising. His tiny orange side kick, Little, has shown no interest in operations or management of the Realm. So as advised by RC Cat, We put out notice of a vacancy. Miss Ella Enchanted responded and has met with approval by all. She will need to rest and fatten up a bit (not to Murphy standards), but she has been rescued from uncertain life on the streets after fleeing an unsuitable, brutal home. But all are confident she has made her way to where she always was meant to be: to her field of dreams.”

Don’t worry kid. We’ll have a field day in the back yard.©

Don’t mind me. I’m just staff. (Tiptoeing quietly out)

Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge

OK. Fielding requests for an official portrait.©