The Dead Dormouse -- Bad Munster, Germany

 He who is cruel to animals becomes hard also in his dealings with men. We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.

~Immanuel Kant

Billie. You have the biggest heart in the world. Your only rival might be Julia.
 
I'm starting this post from the living room of the farmhouse in Bad Munster. Afternoon light filters in through the three dusty windows and highlights the stray fibers of the dark brown alpaca scarf Billie is knitting and the large water bottle resting in the middle of the wooden table. The windowsill to my left is laden with African nick-knacks, from bead and wire rhinoceroses to wooden women with water gourds perched atop their faceless heads. I love the decoration of this room... it captures the essence of "farm" so fully. The floor is wooden, faded and covered with dog hair (which I sweep up every other day or so). The couch fits into the corner comfortably and the armchair to its left looks stately and perfectly suited for knitting and drinking hot chocolate. An unused furnace commandeers the corner, hiding behind a wicker basket overflowing with unspun sheep's wool and a spinning wheel that looks too lovely to touch. A china cabinet and a wine glass cabinet flank the large white door and are topped with photos, books, cordials, a carved horse and what appears to be a crossbow (although I'm sure it's just a weaving or spinning tool). The ceiling has a great wooden beam running through the middle and an old fashioned sort of chandelier hangs next to a fat cat with wings and two yellow butterflies. Books line the ceiling (you'd need a ladder to reach them, so I'm guessing that these are the "I could read this someday... maybe... it could be interesting... if I go on vacation and have all that time, I might as well..." sort of books) and the walls are painted a creamy, rusty, brownish yellow. Pitu snores softly and Lily pokes her head around the door. Animals, animals everywhere. Including in the walls, loft, ceiling and behind the kitchen counters.

Like every farmhouse (especially the ones that are four hundred years old), this building has a few extra uninvited mammals hanging about. They scurry, pitter, patter, squeak and squirm. As Germany experienced its autumn cold snap a couple of weeks ago, it appears that a few of the petite, hairless tail, squeaking type of mammal are relocating from their forest homes to their wall homes. Bob (the fat, unenthused male cat) is entirely uninterested in this change of events. He subscribes to a strict diet of kibbles, tinned cat food and whatever he can lick off of our dinner plates. Lily (the lithe, energetic female cat) is a bit more titillated and takes great pride in her hunting prowess. She's a trophy hunter though, and believes Billie to be her biggest fan. So she leaves her little treasures in places Billie is sure to find them.

Lily recently left the present of a dead dormouse on the corner couch. Billie mournfully and ungraciously (from Lily's point of view) threw the cute little guy into the wheelbarrow with the alpaca poo. She then stripped the blankets from the couch and stuffed them into the washing machine, as any normal person would do upon discovering a deceased rodent (regardless of how cute the creature in question may be). She had to work that afternoon, so she asked me to hang the sheets up to dry in the courtyard. So after lunch, I opened the washing machine, tugged out the wet red blanket and was just about to slam the machine door shut when I caught sight of what I thought was a particularly fluffy sock. Billie and Joe had been complaining about losing socks, so I enthusiastically reached for it, thinking that I'd get to return a sock to its owner (everyone's always super happy when receiving a missing sock).

But it wasn't a sock.

It wasn't a sock at all.

It was another dead dormouse. A very clean, very dead dormouse.

"F*CK!" I screamed as I dropped the rodent saturated blankets onto a kitchen chair. Joe looked up curiously from where he was sitting at the table and I heard Julia's footsteps pounding in my direction.

"Ah... ah... shit... ah..." I jumped back and forth from one foot to the other like someone who'd just slammed her finger in the door.

"What is it?" Julia asked when she reached my comically upset self.

"Another one. In the washing machine. Lily must have caught two and your mom didn't see the other one. Ah..."

All I wanted was to return a missing sock, I thought as Joe carefully removed the bandit eyed rodent from the machine.

Another animal inspired experience has to be the kitchen door. Because of the dogs, Joe and I have to be very careful about closing doors and gates and remain constantly aware of where we leave our food. Pitu is especially clever though, and has learned how to open the kitchen door using the lever handle. To thwart the opportunistic old dog, Billie has installed a hook on the outside that you can lock upon leaving the kitchen.

This is wonderful for keeping Pitu out of the kitchen. However, during my 10 days in Bad Munster I've managed to lock Joe in the kitchen twice. 

The second time was for over an hour.

"I'm sorry, Joe. So sorry. I'm great at remembering the dogs... I just forget about you," I hung my head as I released my fellow workawayer from the kitchen.

I've mentioned in previous posts how I go about finding good volunteer situations. Part of my criteria is that the people with whom I stay must be excited for the cultural exchange -- not just the cheap help. I want to become a part of family life -- not the short-haired American girl in her twenties who lives in the trailer and harvests the beetroot.

Billie has been phenomenal about letting me participate in day to day life. She invites me out shopping, drops Joe and me off in town when she meets friends for coffee, and allows us to tag along to events like these:

Billie keeps herself remarkably busy with business projects. She has far too many businesses for me to keep track of, but one of them involves selling Tellington's natural horsemanship equipment. This was a very good day for Billie.

I really wish this photo was in focus.

Joe and I have settled into an excellent routine when it comes to cleaning up after and feeding the temperamental, adorable balls of fluff with toothpick legs. I stuff the bags full of hay, he rinses out the buckets and fills them with fresh water. I prepare the special food for the old alpaca ladies with bad teeth, he checks the fields to make sure there aren't any deer for the alpacas to harass (they get a wee bit territorial). We turn on the radio with an ingenious, makeshift antenna and listen to bad American music blare through the stables as we rake and scoop camelid poop.

Joe leaves six days before I do. I'll be sad to see him go. It'll be strange to change the routine and work with someone else for just six days.

But that's just what happens, especially when both parties have their feet off the ground.

Preconceptions: none today

Challenges: the German equivalent of "break a leg" is "Hals und Bainbruch!"

This translates into "break your leg and your neck!"

They really go all out in Germany.