By Amanda Langford Williamson
Special to the Times
'Twas the night before Christmas,
And out on the funny farm,
No bobcats were hunting,
So no chickens were harmed.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
While my friend and I exhausted,
Sat on the floor-dumbfounded and just stared.
The boys were all nestled, all snug in their beds
While visions of video games, teenage girls and no practices danced in their heads.
And me in my sweatpants, and friend in his chaps,
Had just settled down for a well-deserved nap.
When out in the pasture there rose such a clatter,
The fences had come down,
And now loose horses were my new matter.
Away to the fields I flew like a flash,
To open the gate and beat the horses in their big dash.
The moon on the breast of the pasture of no snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When what to my wandering eyes should appear,
But a not-so-miniature squatting pig
With every intention to come eat and endear.
With a little round belly so jolly and plump,
I knew in a moment it couldn't be our deceased turkey named Trump.
Some squealing and grunting she came,
To incite all the ducks and dogs,
To bark and honk in the same.
Now Goose, Now Maverick, Now Scooby and Shaggy,
Settle down you darn ducks,
I will have you tame!
As dry leaves that before the wild forest fire fly,
If they scatter and leave, they'll take to the sky!
So up to the duck house I flew,
To chase them and trap them,
And escape a kick from one boot and one shoe. (I can't put two boots on yet cuz of my broken leg.)
And then in a twinkling, I heard back in the field
The prancing and leaving of a herd,
That was my winter's yield.
I was dressed in my sweatpants
With that boot and that shoe
But boy could I run, hobble and skip
And return that herd for sure true.
Merry Christmas from us at the Funny Farm...where there's more funny than function!
Amanda Langford Williamson is a mom, rancher and health consultant who lives near Allison.
