Friday, February 6, 2009

Armadillos and Costa Rican Coffee

   I had my Friday night dinner party with Margaret, Russ and Brandon. The food was excellent, as always, and Margaret had even prepared two homemade pumpkin pies for dessert. The guys finished dinner before me (I am ALWAYS the last person eating, regardless of who I am with) and started in on the pies. Margaret laughed when she realized she had forgotten to add the sugar to the pies. The guys quietly took turns covering their pieces of pie with whipped cream from a can, like some sort of necessary and solemn ritual that would make the pie bearable to eat.
   The after-dinner conversation turned to animals and veterinary practices and mercy killings, and Brandon told a very disturbing story about an experience he had many years ago. He was working as an attendant at a gas station, and someone had run over an armadillo. It was severely injured and ran towards the gas station, leaving a trail of intestines behind it. Brandon said it was making a horrible noise, and he tried to find something around the shop so he could end its suffering. Unfortunately, the only thing he could find was a baseball bat, so he proceeded to go outside to beat the poor thing to death. He splattered blood all over himself in the process, and at that inopportune moment, a customer pulled up to buy gas and saw, of course, a blood-spattered man holding a baseball bat. Brandon said he never came back!
   We had coffee after dinner, as we usually do. Brandon said he wanted to try to grow his own beans. Fresh coffee, just picked and served within hours of being roasted, is apparently as good as it gets. Margaret said she had some fresh coffee in Coasta Rica and it was unbelievably smooth. She said Costa Rica never exports their best coffee; they keep it for the locals. Which means it is time for me to go to Costa Rica!

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