Rachel Wise
I was late because ...
It was a bad start to the morning. I went out to feed the livestock and my entire flock of sheep was missing.
I checked all the places sheep shouldn't be - the chook-house, the vege garden, the hay shed - and they weren't there. Which in a way was a good sign but it also confirmed that they were, patently, missing. Both of them.
It was on my third or fourth sweep of the paddock that I glanced next door and spotted what looked suspiciously like my ewe, cosied up to the neighbour's ram.
I had to peer closely as, despite only having two sheep, I still find they all look alike. But yes that was Mindy. And Minty, her last year's lamb, had stuffed his robust woolly self through the fence as well.
They needed to come home.
This is where a farmer would whistle up his dog, whip it through the flock and separate out the offending beasts, open the gate, usher them through and then say something like "get in behind" and saunter off.
Me, I get to do the lifestyler's walk of shame, slinking through the neighbour's paddock rattling an icecream container filled with sheep pellets and calling out "come on, coome on".
The problem with that is my neighbour is also a lifestyler. So not only did I get Mindy and Minty stampeding towards me, but I got all of hers as well.
That's when I had to deploy the lifestyler's shuffle. That's when you let the required animal get its face into the food container and you walk backwards, while fending off the unrequired animals periodically by waving your feet at them.
It didn't work. The ram was in love. He stuck to Mindy like hay to a polar fleece and I ended up with him at my place. My neighbour will have to come over later with her icecream container and take him back.
Shifting the flock had put me behind in my list of "stuff I must do before I go to work" so things became a blur as I rushed to get showered, dressed, remove the chihuahua and cat hair from what I swear had been clean clothes when I put them on, grab vital things like food, keys and cellphones and get into my car.
But I couldn't get into my car.
Whoever had used it last - and it wasn't me and there are only two people in my household, just saying - had closed the driver's door on the seatbelt clip, ensuring it was not just shut, but jammed shut.
I was going to have to climb through from the passenger's side.
Easy to say, not so easy to execute given my vehicle is a 4WD with a sturdy centre console flaunting an extra gear-shifty thing for its extra 4WD functions. And I was in high heeled boots. And a dress.
I flung my handbag in and followed it with my self.
In the process of launching myself over the console, I inadvertently sat upon my water bottle, compressing the contents and popping the sipper lid, which expelled the water in a graceful arc that finished in the driver's seat.
By the time I realised my targeted seat contained a small lake, I was already on my second launch, from the console (which hadn't been comfortable) into the aforementioned driver's spot.
It was a frosty morning and my water bottle had been nicely chilled. I leaped up, connected with the steering wheel and splash landed. A couple of swears and a damn good shove later I got the door open and stomped inside to get changed and get a towel for my seat.
Changed, armed with a towel, I attempted to leave for work again, but in the time it had taken me to get changed, Hugo, my smallest chihuahua, had burped his breakfast onto the kitchen floor. He does that. I sacrificed my towel to the clean-up process and fetched a second towel for my driver's seat.
Looking at the time as I drove out the gate I calculated if I got a clear run I would get to work only about 10 minutes late.
That was before I rounded the first corner and got stuck behind the rubbish truck. Which stayed slowly but determinedly in front of me for the next 20km, adding insult to injury by reminding me that in my rush I had, once again, forgotten to put our wheelie bin out.
You can go off sheep.