I woke up this morning trying to make a pun on “ammoniac”, and I didn’t have a lot of luck, despite having felt I was on the scent of something good.
So now I’ve made up a story about a bunch of Tibetans. They’re robbers and brigands, and they travel with their wild oxen, which they use for milk and as beasts of burden. A certain one of the oxen, steadier and more reliable than his brethren, is used to carry the robbers’ loot, a precious cargo. He has done this work before, and recognizes the scent of the metal in the heavy bags the robbers are securely tying to his sides. The great creature remembers that after these previous periods of raids, there have been long rest periods in lush green pastures in the pleasant plateaus below the frigid mountain slopes from which the robbers stage their depredations. The ox is loved and well-cared for by the robbers. So now the happy creature is laughing like a money yak.
To which, my friend Bob K said, “Confirmed, you are indeed ammoniac”.
Ammonia tricks, Bob.