Turns out this man had set himself up with a retirement business, which involved transporting farm animals such as cows, pigs and sheep. So now we were on to animal stories. He went on to tell me about his first trip to a big city as a young boy. He went to New York City to perform in the evening rodeo at Madison Square Garden and found himself with nothing to do all day but watch people. Down into the subways he went and was astounded to see people trample each other when one would happen to fall down. It struck him that people were dumber than cattle. Unlike humans, when a cow falls, the others in the herd will do everything in their power to avoid stepping on the fallen animal.

“The only animal dumb enough to step on its own kind are sheep.” He said. I laughed and told him that when my husband and I see people blindly following the crowd, we like to call them “Sheeple.”

Today, this story came across the Associated Press:

“Thousands of Muslims surging to complete a stoning ritual before sunset stampeded Thursday after some pilgrims tripped over dropped luggage, causing a pileup that killed at least 345 people in the second tragedy to hit this year’s hajj.”

And I’m thinking, “Even cattle wouldn’t let this happen!” While 345 is a huge number, this kind of thing happens routinely. Most of us remember the fatal crush of fans at The Who concert of 1979, but did you hear about the recent Wal-Mart Stampede? Check out this video from the day after last Thanksgiving when shoppers stampeded into the store. And here is a similar Wal-Mart story from August of last year:

“A rush to purchase $50 used laptops turned into a violent stampede, with people getting thrown to the pavement, beaten with a folding chair and nearly driven over. One woman went so far to wet herself rather than surrender her place in line.”

There are dozens of stories like these. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. The sobering thing is that I must still be clinging to the idea that humans are intelligent and noble beings or I would not react with surprise at any of this.

The American Dream……

An American businessman was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them.

The Mexican replied, “Only a little while.”

The American then asked, “why don’t you stay out longer and catch more fish?”

The Mexican said, “I have enough to support my family’s immediate needs.”

The American then asked, “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”

The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life, senor.”

The American scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution.

You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise.”

The Mexican fisherman asked, “But senor, how long will this all take?”

To which the American replied, “15-20 years.”

“But what then, senor?”

The American laughed and said, “That’s the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions.”

“Millions, senor? Then what?”

The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”

“But senor,” laughed the Mexican fisherman, “I have all this already.”

The younger of these pretty little girls, Amy, had written a series of notes for her older sister, Emily, to use as clues. Each note led to another note. The last note would take Emily to the treasure.

For hours on this housebound winter’s day, they moved around the house with Amy hovering expectantly over Emily as she inched ever closer to the prize. Meanwhile, Bob and I were doing our own thing, talking or working on dinner. We weren’t paying much attention to the game, as we had long ago taken Emily and Amy’s ability to entertain themselves for granted.

In fact, we might not have noticed the game at all if we hadn’t overheard Emily’s exclamation upon unearthing her treasure. And seen Amy’s crestfallen face as she exited their bedroom. Emily had said, “You brought me all this way for Plastic Farm Animals!?!”