Hey there, Mr. Edward Jones

There was a period of time when our horse, Woody, and the goats would literally roam our yard.  We live off the road down a long lane and they pretty well stayed back at our house so we let them go.  There was plenty for them to graze on as I used to enjoy landscaping.  I say I used to because it is almost not worth the effort anymore.  Nothing was sacred; they ate, pooped and peed on everything.

One day I was working on transcripts in my bedroom and the kids were out in the living room.  If our house is shut up, you can't hear outside noises very well.  A car that the kids didn't recognize pulled up...so they came running, "Mom, some guy is here and he's wearing a suit."  Of course, I'm jumping into panic mode because a) I haven't showered or put on real clothes; b) our house, as usual, resembles the aftermath of a natural disaster; and c) what does he want?

And then I made it to the front door and everything went from bad to worse because I hadn't thought about  option d) Woody, the horse, all the goats, Bifficus the idiot Bloodhound and Abby were swarming around this poor gentleman in the suit as he's trying to make his way up the front walk and onto the porch.  I can only imagine what thoughts were going through his mind as I opened up the door.  I know what was going through mine, I was mortified.  There is NO way I'm inviting this man into my house, I have no idea who he is.  He looks decent enough and he's dressed up, but it's not really safe.  I'm also wondering if he is thinking that he's just stepped into the twilight zone.  He introduces himself and tells me he's opened an Edward Jones office in Marshall and was hoping to talk to us about our investments.

Remember how I told you Bifficus was an idiot, that he used to chase and bark and just stir up trouble at every opportunity?  Well, apparently he felt the call of the wild kick in and decided it was time to strut his stuff because all of a sudden these goats that he lounges with and cohabitates with are now bothering him and he has an audience...so he starts growling at them...which causes them to gather together and do what goats do best...poop and pee...on the porch...right there at the front door...within feet of Mr. Edward Jones. 

I'm apologizing all over myself for the complete madness surrounding this poor guy, and he is, of course, telling me it's no big deal, it's fine, it doesn't bother him.  Yeah, right, pal, I'm not a total idiot.  You came here trying to gain an investment account and here's what I have to offer: a horse poking his head over the porch railing, a bloodhound that will not shut up and a herd of goats pooping and peeing at your feet, sure, it's all good.  How much should I send to open up our account?

Needless to say, he probably did his condensed sales pitch, you know the I-don't-know-who-these-people-are-or-what-is-going-on-here-but-get-me-the-heck-outta-here version, passed a card through the melee and headed to his car.  I'm guessing somewhere down the road, probably several miles just to be safe, he pulled over and had to clean off his shoes and gather his senses.  Oh, and my kids, they thought it was great.  They just weaved in and out of the ruckus, smashed the poop and traipsed through the pee puddle, all the while introducing Mr. EJ to the goats and dogs and horse by name.  Frankly, I wouldn't have been surprised if DCFS or some other agency showed up for a home visit later that day. 

Funny thing, I now work directly across from his office.  Some day I'm going to drop in and remind him of his encounter at the Wilhoit Ranch and see what he says.  I'm sure it will be a good laugh...now that he's recovered, he's safe and we're not standing on my front porch...