He was owned by a patient, kind-hearted man named Henry, who lived on a sprawling farm. Henry, perhaps slightly delusional about his companion’s nature, often dreamed of long country walks and his faithful guardian surveying the lands. He soon learned that Barnaby’s only real skill was making the absolute most hilarious, terrified faces at the most inconvenient times.
Fear of the Gentle Giants: C O W S
Henry decided the time had come to introduce Barnaby to his larger bovine acquaintances. It was a beautiful, peaceful morning on the farm. Henry clipped the leash to Barnaby’s collar and began their stroll toward the main pasture, where a small herd of Holstein cows was peacefully grazing.
From a distance, Barnaby was confident. He trotted with a little bounce in his step, chest puffed out, sniffing the fresh air. But as they approached the gate, the first cow became clearly visible. It was just a big, slow-moving black-and-white animal, minding its own business and chewing on grass.
This, however, was not how Barnaby perceived it.
The Reaction:
The transformation was instantaneous and terrifyingly funny. Barnaby didn’t just stop; he froze so hard he looked like a statue designed by a comedian. His legs locked straight, creating a comedic triangle under his body. But it was his face that stole the show. His ears flattened back against his head as if trying to escape their own fur. His naturally expressive eyes bulged, showing a dangerous amount of the white sclera, directed upwards as if checking to see if the sky was indeed about to fall. And the mouth... oh, the mouth. It dropped completely open in that classic, goofy, "shocked-Gus-Gus-from-Cinderella" look, with his upper lip curled slightly, revealing just the tips of his gums. He didn't blink. He looked directly at the cow as if trying to calculate the trajectory of his inevitable doom.
"They're just cows, Barnaby!" Henry said, chuckling, trying to give the leash a gentle tug.
Barnaby wasn't having it. His entire body began a high-frequency vibrate, and he made a noise that sounded like a cross between a squeaky toy and a mournful opera singer, a low-pitched "Woooooooo-woe-is-meeee." When a large cow, perhaps intrigued by the noisy creature near the fence, let out a deep, resonant "M O O O O O," Barnaby actually jumped backwards, airborne, still maintaining the frozen-shock expression. His legs splayed mid-air, and he landed in a comedic heap before instantly turning and scrabbling back toward the farmhouse. Henry, laughing so hard tears came to his eyes, was forced to call off the field trip.
A Whistle and a Whisper: B I R D S
Thinking the pasture might have been too grand a scale for Barnaby's delicate constitution, Henry decided to start smaller. He focused on the quiet sanctuary of his back garden, a place of blooming hydrangeas and soft grass.
A small flock of sparrows landed on the birdbath for their morning splash. It was a quiet, domestic scene. Henry nudged Barnaby, who was lying in the grass pretending to be invisible.
"Look, Barnaby! Little birds. They aren't going to hurt you."
The Reaction:
Barnaby was not a fan of anything with wings. His previous fear response to the cows was large and dramatic, but this was refined, subtle, and perhaps even more hysterical. Upon seeing the tiny, chirping birds, Barnaby slammed his face into the dirt. He tried to burrow, or perhaps he thought that if he couldn't see them, they certainly couldn't see him.
"Barnaby, get your face out of the dirt," Henry sighed.
When Barnaby did raise his head, he had a tuft of grass stuck to his wet nose. His eyes were wide, blinking rapidly, focused entirely on the small sparrows. His mouth was closed this time, but his lower jaw was jutted out in a bizarre underbite of pure anxiety. Every single time a sparrow took flight or even shifted its weight on a twig, Barnaby would flinch, throwing his head from side to side in a motion that looked entirely involuntary, creating a perfect cartoon 'swivel-head' effect. He looked like he was trying to track thirty different mosquitoes all at once, except they were tiny sparrows ten feet away.
Henry pointed at the sparrows again. "They just want some water, buddy."
A single blue jay, known for its loud and aggressive call, suddenly landed on the bird feeder, squawking screech-screech!.
Barnaby's face went from panic to complete system failure. He opened his mouth again, that wide-open "Gasp-O" face, but this time his tongue rolled out to the side like a useless ribbon. He produced a sharp, terrified "Whine-Yelp" and scrambled in a low-crouch back towards the patio door, looking backward over his shoulder with bulging eyes the entire way. Birds were off the list, too.
The Terror of the Ponds: D U C K S
Finally, Henry was out of ideas. The farm held many animals, and avoiding all livestock was proving difficult. He decided to try the farm pond.
It was a hot day, and Henry thought the water might soothe Barnaby's nerves. He was wrong. As they approached the bank, a family of wild mallard ducks was silently gliding through the lily pads. They were peaceful. They were quiet. They were, in essence, just floating feather-potatoes.
The Reaction:
Barnaby didn’t have to see them move to be terrified. The mere presence of feathered objects floating in the water was enough. When he spotted the small ducks, his reaction combined all previous fears. His legs locked into their stiff, wide stance. His ears pressed down so hard they almost formed a seal on his head. His eyes went into full saucer-mode.
But the real comedy came from his expression. He opened his mouth so incredibly wide that Henry could almost see his tonsils, and then he let out a dramatic, high-pitched, vibrating howl of pure cartoon terror: "H O O O O W L !"
As he did this, he leaned away from the water as far as possible without actually taking a step back, looking like a furry caricature of the leaning tower of Pisa. When one of the male ducks, presumably annoyed by the dramatic hound, let out a single, sharp "Q U A C K," Barnaby actually fainted.
He didn’t just fall over; his eyes rolled up, revealing only the white, his tongue fell out in a comical angle, and he collapsed silently onto the grass, still maintaining that frozen face. After a few seconds, he woke up, immediately recognized where he was, looked at the ducks with bulging eyes, and dashed back home at a speed that would have made a greyhound proud.
