Miss Foxxy's Wisdom: A Dream of Resilience, Lies, and the Cowardly Goat - Naked truth chapter 20

When Ducky Duck and the the Coward Goat make an appearance

“A well-directed word can kill or humiliate, without dirtying one’s hands. One of the great joys in life is humiliating one’s equal.” - Pierre Desproges

Writing about life experiences is, in my opinion, one of the best ways to process trauma and exorcise the horrendous events one has endured. Inspired by much-treasured writers like Eugène Ionesco and George Orwell, Martha enjoys exploring various topics through characters from the animal kingdom. There is nothing like combining truth with fiction so please start with “Naked truth” Chapter 1.

Miss Foxxy visited Martha’s dreams again, bringing news from the Animal Farm! Her presence always fills her with a mix of joy and admiration. She’s such a symbol of resilience and wit, a creature who has seen generations of her kin fall prey to the Double Headed Viper’s bullets. Yet, despite it all, she endures, her keen nose detecting danger—him and his lackeys—from miles away.

Just the other day, she noticed Ducky Duck strutting along, puffing on yet another cigarette, his self-importance practically leaving a trail of smoke behind him, bubbles of blue and pink dancing together. Tagging along, for the 19th time that morning, was the Cowardly Goat. Miss Foxxy could hardly contain herself; she laughed until her sides ached at the sight of him. So full of himself, yet so transparently lonely and afraid of life itself.

MISS FOXXY SMILES

Martha and Miss Foxxy exchange a knowing smile, both silently acknowledging an unspoken truth: something, somewhere, at some time, shaped the Coward Goat’s life irrevocably. Beneath his composed exterior lies a simmering anger, a tension so tangible it sometimes erupts into hatred—directed as much inward as outward. This bitterness creates an impenetrable barrier, making meaningful relationships a near impossibility.

Though ambitious and shrewd, these traits may propel him toward external success, but his character will remain a constant stumbling block. With a heart locked tight and a soul weighed down by compromise, the burden of inadequacy may follow him all his days—unless fate intervenes to offer a rare and blessed chance.

THE GOAT IS IN ITS ELEMENT

The Goat has adapted to life on the Animal Farm with remarkable speed, though not without cost. He’s learned the art of survival—how to attach himself to power, how to carry favour with those who matter. Clinging to Ducky Duck as if his life depended on it, he’s even smoking double amount every day, a shared ritual that cements their unlikely bond. Where one goes, the other is sure to follow—like the world’s worst buddy comedy. The Italian mafia seems to have staged a revival, not in some shadowy corner of Sicily, but in the middle of a scrapyard, on a far away farm, at the end of the world. Picture this: rusty metal heaps, splintered wood, rat poison traps scattered like confetti, cow dung, and noisy hens with a touch of a faint whiff of despair hanging in the air. It’s not exactly The Godfather; it’s more like The God-viper and family.

Here, betrayal and abuse are the daily specials, served up with a side of tribunals and under-the-table payments. Crime scenes? Oh, they’re wiped clean with all the skill of a talented teenager hiding a cigarette bud —under layers of wood chips, animal dung, sweat, and unseen tears. It’s the kind of place where loyalty gets you nothing but splinters, broken backs, alcohol addiction, crippling anxiety, a place where justice is as elusive as a straight nail in that mountain of scrap.

It’s a strange and twisted dance, but Miss Foxxy, with her sharp eyes and sharper instincts, sees through it all. Nothing escapes her notice.

The hat of power that Ducky Duck found himself wearing came at a critical moment for him —just as hatching season began and it was also time to build a new nest. The timing was no accident. The Double headed Viper, ever cunning and calculating, had discarded the hat in a brilliant move to safeguard his own eggs, passing it on to Ducky without so much as a nudge.

But the hat was immense, far too big for Ducky’s unexperienced head. He knew it didn t belong to him and in his moments of lucidity he did not want it either. The hat sank so low it obscured his eyes, plunging him into a state of perpetual confusion and denial. His vision became distorted, his gaze perpetually crossed, and though he wished desperately to escape the burden, it was already far too late.

The Double Viper had bound him tightly with invisible strings, each one a silent contract of loyalty and dependence. These ties were unbreakable, securing Ducky as a permanent servant in the Viper’s schemes. No matter how much he struggled, Ducky was trapped, doomed to pick poisoned chestnuts from the fire and lick them clean, just as the Viper ordered. His fate was sealed, and all he could do was comply, a pawn forever at the mercy of the master.

The truth was, the duck found it difficult to maintain eye contact with the other animals on the farm. Most of them were taller, walked on four legs, and seemed to tower over him. He only felt powerful when he was sitting in front of a screen, staring at its glow.

To navigate the farm’s social dynamics, he appointed his left ear as the welcoming committee, serving as the only point of contact with the others—beyond the occasional monosyllabic grunt.

All the Duck had ever truly wanted was to worship his computer, drive his flower-power bus—decorated with daisies and hearts—Bob Marley blasting through the speakers, and keep his distance from everyone else. No one had ever taught him how to talk to the other animals, let alone how to bring them together to sing in harmony. It’s not his fault that he is the way he is.

From her very first week on the farm, Martha was utterly bewildered. There was no map to guide her, no alignment with the seasonal rhythms that dictated the farm’s activities. To new recruits, it was an impenetrable maze, creating countless moments of unnecessary confusion, mental cruelty, and humiliation.

As she explored, she stumbled upon a labyrinth of tunnels winding beneath the farm. Much to her astonishment, these hidden passageways revealed a world she hadn’t expected—like stepping into a fairytale. It wasn’t Cinderella’s enchanted castle, but there, tucked away from the farm’s oppressive atmosphere, were creatures of extraordinary talent, untouched by the virus that plagued so many others.

These remarkable beings became her occasional companions and allies, offering moments of solace and collaboration amid the chaos.

End of chapter 18

Until next time, be well!

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