Life on a family farm
in the wilds of
Upstate New York
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
Talking on the phone with my baby brother. On the mend enough to laugh a bit, if still weaker than a kitten and dizzy and all that stuff. In comes the boss and writes me a note. There is a white chicken on the bridge and it won't let him cross with the skid steer. He needs to get it over there to plug it in so its cold-blooded engine will start in the morning. But the chicken says, "Thou Shall Not Pass."
The boss wants to know if I know anything about the chicken. Having been in bed for several days I don't know anything about anything, so I send him to Becky to call Liz to find out about yon chicken. I won't repeat the response, because it was profane and didn't auger well for the bird's future. However, when he went back outside it was gone anyhow. Then came the dog. Mack is such a heinous little Hell hound that I really can't let him loose in the kitchen unless I watch him very closely. I felt sorry for him, having been crated a lot the past few days of my illness, so I had him on a leash, upon which I was sitting, while I tried to talk to my brother. In between, I was untangling him from the chair...the dog, not the brother...and giving him a little more slack to get the ball he just rolled out of his reach. Suddenly I glanced down and rapidly excused myself to bro. There was a fat green caterpillar rummaging around the floor dragging a chair. See, Liz puts up an old green sheet between my two dogs' crates and Ren when she passes, because to say that they loathe each other would be to put it kindly. Mack had wound himself up in the sheet until he was completely covered, no head, no tail, etc., but unperturbed was chasing his ball around, dragging the chair that it had hung on. He was so entangled that it was a challenge to get him out, but honey badger...or Jack Russell don't care..... It's a wonder anyone ever calls me.