A camel seeks love at auction

Trouble finds happy shopper

The day I was bitten by a camel was a day like any other — except for the part where I was bitten by a camel. Uncle Ronnie and I had driven to a farm sale in eastern Tennessee. Critters, cowboy boots and road trips with Uncle Ronnie all ranked in the Top 10 on my list of favorite things, so I was in high spirits.

We’d hitched the trailer to his old Ford pickup the day before and headed from his farm in Piggott across the Mississippi River into the rolling hills of Tennessee. Our discussions ranged from the amount of rainfall to the purpose of life. Sometimes, we just stared out the window, taking in the scenery and saying nothing. All were equally good conversations.

We stopped for lunch at a weather-beaten roadside diner which served Southern-fried everything, and I do believe they still hold the record for the best green beans I’ve ever eaten. Full bellies and the sound of the road lulled us the remaining miles. Once arrived, we sashayed by the livestock grounds, then retired to our respective rooms for the evening, vowing to be up and out early the next morning.

Now, as anyone acquainted with me for half a minute knows, I’m not a morning person. I think folks who smile before 9 a.m. are suspect. But tell me a farm sale is involved, and I can rock a sunrise with the best of them.

We walked into the barn the next morning before anyone else was up — even the animals. What a privilege to watch them yawn and stretch and try to come to life, as Dolly would say.

“Looks like you made a friend,” my uncle said, as I scratched the chin of a camel the size of a U-Haul. His saucer eyes blinked with gratitude. With a final swipe across his nose, I walked a few steps over for morning salutations with a water buffalo.

This move was unappreciated by Mr. Camel. He rested his chin on my shoulder. I giggled, scratched him again, and went on my way.

It was at this point that I choose to believe Mr. Camel wanted to behave, but there were too many other options available to him. The camel leaned down, chomped my upper arm, and pulled me toward him with bedroom eyes.

“Owwww!” I exclaimed. I bopped him on the nose and ran.

Uncle Ronnie shook his head. “The trouble that finds you, girl.”

“Maybe THAT’S where the term ‘Hump Day’ REALLY comes from,” I laughed.

We spent the day savoring the sights and sounds — and smells — of the livestock, and bought two beautiful red Watusi calves to bring home.

“How was your day?” Aunt Shirley asked when we called later that evening.

“Great! I loved every minute! And I got bitten by a camel!” Silence.

“Put your uncle on the phone.”

“And we’re coming home with two redheads named Lucy and Ethel!

Apparently that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“I distrust camels, and anyone else that can go a week without a drink.”

— Comedian Joe E. Lewis