In my neverending quest to keep Pampérigouste from achieving her dreams, I have launched a formal investigation into her last escape, which I had no explanations for at the time.
I figured it out! At the far far end of her pasture, near the road, a few fence posts have become more or less horizontal (the ground is quite wet / muddy there so they've never been very stable, especially with Pirlouit using them to scratch his forehead)—so instead of a high jump + long jump combo to get to the road, Pampe just had to clear the long jump over the ditch. Which is still impressive.
I also suspect that she chose to escape from this place near the road on a snowy morning as a deliberate strategy, knowing the snow plough would erase any traces of her jump, thus preventing me from discovering where the weak spot in the fence was. Well done.
You need 2 people to fix these fence posts so in the meantime I decided to kill two birds with one stone: cut all the broom and thorny bushes in this corner of the pasture and use them to form a discouraging barrier. I set to work earlier this week, and here's the same place as above, mid-process:
When I texted my mum to tell her about my new thorn-based anti-Pampe plan of action, she said "Like the Maasai who make fences with thorny acacia branches to keep out lions!" and it made me feel even more confident. I mean, I have neither acacia nor Maasai fencing techniques but my thorny shrubs are pretty aggressive, they pricked my fingers even through my thick work gloves—which felt satisfying in an anticipatory way. Excellent! prick Pampe's nose exactly like this. How could a llama not be deterred by a fence material that deters apex predators?
Vexingly enough, she seemed quite supportive of my efforts. At one point she breathed some warm air against my shoulder in a gentle, patronising way.
We were engaged in psychological warfare all afternoon—every time I stepped away from my vegetal fence, feeling like it was now good enough, Pampe would immediately come to inspect it, cheerful and impatient, which sapped my confidence so I would go and add a few more shrubs. (Note that I sort of plaited the first / biggest shrubs with the pre-existing fence so they don't go flying on the road, and so Pampe can't just push them aside.)
On the right: Poldine, looking for little fresh leaves to eat amidst the chaos.
On the left: Pampérigouste, thinking.
(At this point the barrier was only 20% thorns, and 80% broom—the fact that she waded through it without a care and didn't prick her belly made me go and add more thorny shrubs, and pack them more densely)
It's kind of fun watching Pampe think, honestly. Can I jump over this? Do I have enough visibility? Can I eat my way to freedom (again)? But these shrubs are disgusting. Am I above exploiting my daughter's lack of culinary discernment to achieve my goals? Maybe I should go back to my calculations re: probability of wild boar destruction.
I may have pincushions for hands after handling prickly bushes for two hours but I'm helping stimulate my llama's intellect and creativity and that's so important.
I tried to alternate broom and thorny branches so that the non-thorny broom became tangled up with thorns and brambles to form an impenetrable and incomprehensible wall. I will call it this method the salmagundi-fence.
Poldine is in awe of my vegetal installation.
Can I just say, compared to Pampérigouste who constantly has a devilish glint in her eye, Pampelune's face exudes wholesome politeness and moral goodness. It's still hard to believe they're mother and daughter.
I went home once my fence started looking like Maleficent's forest of thorns and Pampe had long stopped trying to wade through it, but I still felt antsy and ended up coming back one hour later to have my apéritif with the llamas so I could keep an eye on Pampe until nightfall.
... where is Pampe?
Oh. Here. No worries!
Still staring at the road. Still thinking.
...
With all that said, please admire my beautifully delirious Forest of Thorns-fence and let me know what you think.
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Twilight *Open the door wildly*: Handler, I love Yor and want to spend the rest of my life raising Anya with her!!!
Sylvia:....Yes, I know!
Nightfall *Open the door wildly*: I madly love my master, Twilight!
Sylvia: ....I know that too!
Twilight and Nightfall: ... what?!
Sylvia: Sorry… I was supposed to pretend to be surprised?
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Bakugou is a stumbling, fumbling nerd at best. But once he realizes that you become even more flustered than him? The fucker won’t leave you alone.
He’s not a fan of PDA, mainly because he doesn’t like seeing it so he doesn’t like acting it out in turn, but he grabs your hand one day while you’re out. Paparazzi is swarming you and he doesn’t want you getting lost in the crowd, so he plucks your hand from where it’s tucked in your (his) hoodie pocket. He snatches you up against his side and pulls you in until his hand drops yours to protectively wrap around your shoulders instead, bringing you against his chest. He thinks you might be hurt after you get inside, when you’re too flustered to look him in the eye for a while.
So he tests, experiments with you. Gives you a sweet little kiss on the lips when your friends are around, when fans are looking. He watches how you always smile a little, bat at his chest and push him away because now that he’s seen you like this, he’s gonna want more from you. At private parties, he has no qualms about rubbing your ass while you stand there, mid conversation with someone. You keep stuttering over your words and trying to bat him away gently, and he wouldn’t typically do this, but you’re so cute. So cute when the person finally walks away and you punch softly at his chest in embarrassment, how you squeak when he pulls you in a hug just to grab another handful of your ass.
Omg and doing joint interviews together!!!! Usually he’s pretty private about everything, but he likes sharing little details—not to embarrass or humiliate you, but because he knows you’re getting flashbacks of tangled sheets and sweet nights whenever he mentions a little detail. Or maybe, you find yourself patting his thigh jokingly, before looking over at him, a smile stretching your face. But the evil little fucker is only smirking at you, his eyes low, posture slumped as he spreads his thighs just the tiniest bit wider. He doesn’t even say anything, just glances at how high your hand is on his thigh before looking back up at you, an eyebrow cocked. You snatch your hand away as if he’s burned you, and the interviewer can only laugh. ANNOYING!!!!! (lovingly)
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