thought there was something very normal and chicken-y about this attack.
There was not. Chicken beaks are like jackhammers. They hurt like hell. I had had it with the roosters of this world. I ran up to this one and kicked him like a football. “You’re going to Gretta’s!” I shouted, as he flew up into the sky and tumbled beak over feet, then fell to the ground with a thud. I ran after him and kicked him again. “You’re going to Gretta’s!” I shouted again and again in what everyone that day regarded as a full chicken fit.
Robin looked a lot more afraid of me than of the rooster. I don’t know what this display did to my eloquent talk about bonding.
One false move and you’re outta here
. I don’t think of myself as a person who relates to others that way, but when it comes to pecky roosters this is who I am.
In the end, we didn’t get the ram pen built in time. No, of course we did not. Because there never is an end to the pig-and-pancake story, no, once you open that horrible book you are stuck in an endless loop of responsibility and anguish.
One day we woke up and looked outside and counted the sheep and realized that the burly ram was gone.
We knew where it almost certainly had escaped to. Just over our fence lay the land of George’s milk and honey: some five hundred ewes.
I told Alex he had to call George and tell him our ram was loose in his field.
He said, “I know.”
We both sighed. We didn’t want to have to deal with this.The whole point in becoming sheep farmers was so that we wouldn’t have to deal with George’s anger with us, whatever it was. And now look.
“Look!” I said to Alex.
George’s pickup was barreling up our driveway. There was a ram in the back.
“Oh, God,” Alex groaned.
This was one of those times I was glad I had to bathe my children. I would have to stay inside and rinse their hair. Darn it, I would have to miss the duel with the neighbor.
“You have to admit it was nice of him to bring the ram back,” I said to Alex. “Maybe it’s a peace offering.”
“Uh-huh,” he said.
“Good luck,” I said.
“Yeah…”
I rinsed extra good. Then I put in conditioner. I told the girls it was important to sometimes let conditioner stay in your hair and really get in there deep. I was hiding in the bathroom.
Alex was down by the barn with George for nearly an hour. Every time I peeked out, neither of them were flailing their arms or putting up their dukes.
When Alex finally came back in, he didn’t look upset.
“You worked it all out?” I said. “Just like that?”
“We talked about how to build a ram pen,” he said.
“Uh-huh.”
“He said I should use cattle fence.”
“Right…”
“And I told him we need a water source because I’m not hauling water every day—”
“What about the feud?”
“I don’t think we’re having a feud.”
“What?”
“Well, he didn’t say anything about it.”
“Nothing?”
“He said to say hello and he said Pat’s heart has been bothering her again.”
Oh, my God. “These people don’t speak to us for two years and then they just pick up where they left off with no explanation?”
“I don’t think they were not-speaking to us,” he said. “Could it be possible that we weren’t speaking to them?”
I considered the option. “We’re not in a feud?” I said.
“Apparently not.”
Oh, God.
“He said he heard we got a livestock guardian dog.”
“Did you show him? Did you introduce him to Luna?”
“He said he doesn’t believe in livestock guardian dogs.”
Well, that was the George I remembered and loved. George was a man with a belief system. “Did you talk about anything else?”
“Mostly just all sheep things.”
Jesus.
We may have evolved into farmers, but we were only beginning to understand farm culture. Out here, emotions run high but then just as quickly can go underground, unspoken. I suppose if you’re lucky they choke on negligence. Or they might take root
There was not. Chicken beaks are like jackhammers. They hurt like hell. I had had it with the roosters of this world. I ran up to this one and kicked him like a football. “You’re going to Gretta’s!” I shouted, as he flew up into the sky and tumbled beak over feet, then fell to the ground with a thud. I ran after him and kicked him again. “You’re going to Gretta’s!” I shouted again and again in what everyone that day regarded as a full chicken fit.
Robin looked a lot more afraid of me than of the rooster. I don’t know what this display did to my eloquent talk about bonding.
One false move and you’re outta here
. I don’t think of myself as a person who relates to others that way, but when it comes to pecky roosters this is who I am.
In the end, we didn’t get the ram pen built in time. No, of course we did not. Because there never is an end to the pig-and-pancake story, no, once you open that horrible book you are stuck in an endless loop of responsibility and anguish.
One day we woke up and looked outside and counted the sheep and realized that the burly ram was gone.
We knew where it almost certainly had escaped to. Just over our fence lay the land of George’s milk and honey: some five hundred ewes.
I told Alex he had to call George and tell him our ram was loose in his field.
He said, “I know.”
We both sighed. We didn’t want to have to deal with this.The whole point in becoming sheep farmers was so that we wouldn’t have to deal with George’s anger with us, whatever it was. And now look.
“Look!” I said to Alex.
George’s pickup was barreling up our driveway. There was a ram in the back.
“Oh, God,” Alex groaned.
This was one of those times I was glad I had to bathe my children. I would have to stay inside and rinse their hair. Darn it, I would have to miss the duel with the neighbor.
“You have to admit it was nice of him to bring the ram back,” I said to Alex. “Maybe it’s a peace offering.”
“Uh-huh,” he said.
“Good luck,” I said.
“Yeah…”
I rinsed extra good. Then I put in conditioner. I told the girls it was important to sometimes let conditioner stay in your hair and really get in there deep. I was hiding in the bathroom.
Alex was down by the barn with George for nearly an hour. Every time I peeked out, neither of them were flailing their arms or putting up their dukes.
When Alex finally came back in, he didn’t look upset.
“You worked it all out?” I said. “Just like that?”
“We talked about how to build a ram pen,” he said.
“Uh-huh.”
“He said I should use cattle fence.”
“Right…”
“And I told him we need a water source because I’m not hauling water every day—”
“What about the feud?”
“I don’t think we’re having a feud.”
“What?”
“Well, he didn’t say anything about it.”
“Nothing?”
“He said to say hello and he said Pat’s heart has been bothering her again.”
Oh, my God. “These people don’t speak to us for two years and then they just pick up where they left off with no explanation?”
“I don’t think they were not-speaking to us,” he said. “Could it be possible that we weren’t speaking to them?”
I considered the option. “We’re not in a feud?” I said.
“Apparently not.”
Oh, God.
“He said he heard we got a livestock guardian dog.”
“Did you show him? Did you introduce him to Luna?”
“He said he doesn’t believe in livestock guardian dogs.”
Well, that was the George I remembered and loved. George was a man with a belief system. “Did you talk about anything else?”
“Mostly just all sheep things.”
Jesus.
We may have evolved into farmers, but we were only beginning to understand farm culture. Out here, emotions run high but then just as quickly can go underground, unspoken. I suppose if you’re lucky they choke on negligence. Or they might take root
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