Okay. So maybe I’m not overly keen on the prospect of Mad Lenny arriving here any time soon. But I sure as hell do want Simon to arrive here safely, asap. I thought I’d better just get that out there in the ether, just on the off-chance that my secret (or actually not-so-secret) thoughts are busy creating my future at this very moment, as I sit and wonder, and wish. I just want The Universe to be absolutely clear that it is my heartfelt wish that Simon should get back here safely, tonight. So that no wishing-away of difficult animals makes any weird stuff happen, that would make the animal-related wish come true with Additional Unforseen Consequences. I have had plenty of experience of that sort of weirdness in the past (The Birthday Wish) and as a result I generally try to be really, really careful about what I wish for these days.
Even if I am not explicitly wishing stuff, I have noticed that the Universe seems to be very good at picking up on my intentions. And of course this is fine and dandy when my intentions are laudable and honourable. But the Universe isn’t picky. It sometimes seems to me that, if it detects even the slightest hint of a deeply held want hanging about in my subconscious, it conspires to create the omelette of my desires , regardless of what eggs (or bones, or hearts) get broken along the way. Sometimes, quite literally, your wishes can turn round and bite you.
So, here we are, eight-thirty pm, and Simon is at long last on his long way home. He rang about three hours ago to say he had left the hospital. It turned out that the surgeon couldn’t see him till tomorrow, and since Simon could hardly stay overnight in hospital while Lenny stayed overnight in the trailer in the hospital car park, the hospital staff agreed to do a temporary repair to his wound, on the understanding that he would go to the hospital in Moulins first thing in the morning, where his wound will be re-opened, so that a surgeon there can have a look at it. Mmmmmm. Lovely.
And in the shorter term this means that, God willing, Simon will be arriving home here at about half past midnight, with a very sore leg and a very unhappy llama, who will have been stuck inside the little trailer, no doubt frightened witless by uncertainty and unfamiliarity, for about fifteen hours. And since we daren’t let him out of the trailer in such a state, in the middle of the night, when we haven’t a hope of being able to see what is going on, he will have to stay in there for another six hours or so until morning. And since, actually, Simon has to get off to the hospital bright and early, and since, actually, he can barely stand at the moment, let alone chase and subdue rampant llamas, we are yet to come up with a plan as to what to do with Lenny when the morning arrives.
Probably everything will be fine, and he will mosey out of the trailer without incident, run around the field edges to check out his new boundaries, have a little spit across the fence and Duc and Valentine, and then set about getting to know his ladies. Probably.
But Simon is understandably feeling a little shaken and a little cautious. Ideally he’d like to see how Lenny settles in, before letting him loose in the great wide world of shagability, in case he turns out to be totally unapproachable, and to be effective at keeping his girls unapproachable too. We are of course now wishing that we had constructed a holding pen, where Lenny could spend a few days on his own, but in sight of the other llamas, so that we could gauge his reaction to his new situation, before introducing him gradually to his new family. But we didn’t. And given Simon’s current state of bite-induced invalidity, there is no chance of hurriedly constructing such a pen, by hastily bashing in a few fence posts and hammering up a bit of wire netting.
So I guess we’ll just have to sleep on it (eventually) and Trust The Universe. And hope like hell that The Universe isn’t sulking, because we didn’t listen to it earlier, when it was trying to tell us something.