160. Growin' Milk

(This story is 

mostly true.  

OK, it’s probably 

all true.  – Bouncer)

 

Bouncer is tired of the Mountain Meadow Motel  and he wants to leave, he said.  When he mentioned it,  I first tried to avoid his feelings with some levity, a bad habit I wonder if I'll ever conquer.

 “You need a hobby,” I said.  “We could get a cow for you and keep her on the meadow out behind the motel.”

 “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking,” he said.  “Maybe all of us could run a dairy farm!”

 “I don’t think so,” I said, “we’d hardly have time left over for prayer and meditation.”

 “Hell, Jesse,” he retorted, “think of all the self-supporting monks on farms the world over.  Shoveling cow poop is almost a monk’s tradition.”

"Don’t you miss all the old toilets?” I said.  “Can’t you just wait to get back in time to see the front porch fall off?"

"It burned down, Jesse,"  he replied, as his eyes squinted at me. “Our monastery burned down.”

"I ... I know," I said, "but you just said you were … and I thought you meant ...."   I stopped, confused for a moment.

"You didn't remember the fire, did you?"  he said.  He stood keenly watching me as I sifted through a pile of papers.

I didn't want to lie.  "I don't know," I said  "I wasn't thinking anything in particular.  I wasn't thinking the monastery was actually still there."

"Jesse," he said, "did you have your annual physical this year?"

"No," I said. “We didn't have the money.”

"I think we should call Dr. Bunch and get you in to see him.  You're our leader and we have a lot of trust invested in you."

 "Well, thank you, thank you very much," I said in my best Elvis imitation, anchoring the tip of my tongue against the back of my lower teeth.

"I'm serious,"  Bouncer said,  "We don't want to follow you off a cliff.  You could do a lot of damage if your head is screwed up."

"I appreciate  your subtlety," I said.

At the doctor's office later in the week I was reminded of how Terd had handled Agnes when he was alive.  Bouncer acted like my servant as he stood with me at the check-in window.  Referring to me in the third person as "The Abbot,"  Bouncer explained to the receptionist that we were mendicant monks and had no money, but would be happy to share the first fruits of our harvest with the doctors and office staff.

"And what would that be," asked the sweet lady, “your harvest, I mean.”

"Why, Ma'm, we're gonna grow milk," he said, launching into his best imitation of Professor Hill in The Music Man.   "Yes, we are.  Through cows, don't you see, but soon we'll have quarts and gallons and 2 percent and 5 percent and 40 percent and ice cream and cheeses and ..."

"Bouncer, stop it," I interjected.

"Excuse the Abbot," Bouncer quickly said, "he needs the doctor to look at his head."

You get the picture.  Traveling anywhere with Bouncer is like accompanying an acting troupe.  I filled out paperwork and sat around in the waiting room for an hour, but finally Dr. Bunch finished his schedule for the day and had the nurse bring me into the examination room.

Sometimes, this group took itself way too seriously.