Turkeys, Piggies, and Goats! Oh My!
My goodness, it has been awhile. Readers, I apologize for my unintentional sabbatical from writing.
Yes, I am talking to both of you. Again.
We have much to catch up on, so let's get started. I'll begin with the farming venture. Yep. Tomas and I plunged into farm sitting with reckless abandon. We stole hay. We bought Wellies so we could muck stalls and walk fields with no fear of shit. We even got ourselves some of those deer skin gloves so we didn't have to worry about shit on our hands either.
By the end of that week, we had shit everywhere else, but our feet and hands were clean.
Anyway, I have to say that the week went pretty damn well. My number one fear was unrealized.
No one died.
Praise Jesus! We did everything we could to prevent that from happening and the animals did their part to live. Luigi and I agreed that IF he may have had anything to do with Joe Cocker's untimely demise that he would curtail those "impulses" until after our watch. Of course, we are not in any way suggesting he had anything to do with Joe Cocker's death. At all. Of course not.
So, since everything was going so swimmingly well, it was easy for me to just focus on the animals. And focus I did. So I noticed a few things. Let's start with the pigs.
There were the little pigs. And there is the one big pig. The little pigs all live outside and we would go feed them twice per day, check their water and the fence to make sure they were all safely contained in their world of electrified safety. Pretty simple, right? It was. Until I noticed that the little pigs would follow us as we walked around the pasture surrounding their area. It was actually so cute the first time it happened--we were checking the cows, they saw us and came running with their ears flopping back as they ran straight to us. So cute.
Um. Like dogs.
That leaves the big pig. She lives inside the barn as she is a show pig. They breed her. They will be keeping her for some years. THANK GOD. Because she is A PET. One, they've named her.
Miss Piggy.
She knows her name. She answers to her name. She comes to her name. She wags her tail when you call her by name. She is simply the most charming, endearing, tame pig I have ever seen. Of course, I don't know any pigs. But the point is, I HAD NO IDEA THAT THERE WERE PIGS LIKE MISS PIGGY.
Tomas especially developed a fondness for her. I may rename him Kermit. Stay tuned.
So, next there are the goats. June and Johnny raise dairy goats. So, they have a few goats and they are all named. And they are all pets.
Especially, importantly, most significantly Luigi.
I am bat shit crazy about that goat. Don't get me wrong. I love all the goats. I had no idea goats were such wonderful, crazy, lovable animals.
But Luigi is special.
He's also a male. On a dairy goat farm. Which means he doesn't really have a place. Of course, he doesn't know that. Half-pint has made him into a pet, he has a name, he thinks he's one of the family.
Let's keep it that way.
So, suffice it to say, Tomas and I love the goats. They're smart. They can open gates and figure out how to get what they want. They are funny. And they are supremely affectionate and happy to see "their people". As we are happy to see them. Did I mention they all have names? June, Johnny, Half-pint all seem determined to name their farm animals. Like pets. But I digress.
This sounds so bucolic and granola, right? Peace, love, and happiness, yeah? I'm practically churning my own butter, baking my own bread, and canning my own tomatoes by this point as I'm so "one with nature". Right?
Not quite. For one thing, I realized that when you're working and helping out on the farm, there's no goddamn time to churn, bake or can. There's only time to feed, muck, shower, feed, muck, shower, and repeat all the time.
Also, while I love me some pigs, goats, cows, lambs, rabbits, and cats.....I do not love me some turkeys. In fact, I fucking hate turkeys.
I had no idea.
I mean, Thanksgiving has never really been my favorite holiday. It's true. Because I just think people tend to cook their turkey until it just can't stand anymore. And I thought that before I met my mother-in-law. It's just so easy to make it as dry as a fart.
Ack.
But I didn't hold it against the animal. Until now. Now, I can say I hate those bastards. They are filthy, ridiculous, stupid creatures. Did I mention filthy? Yes? Filthy doesn't cover it. I had no idea any animal could shit so much. And I had no idea shit could look like that. With that consistency.
Like gelatinous goo.
And we haven't even gotten to the smell. I had no idea anything could smell like that. So when you combine that sight with that smell, you provoke a reaction in me that could only be described, in hindsight, as an EPIC GAG.
I had no fucking idea I could produce a SOUND like that. Apparently, neither did Tomas. He thought I was stepping on a turkey. "No, dear. I'm just rearranging my internal organs. I thought it was time to freshen things up in there."
I gagged so hard I was sore after the first day. As if I had started core crunch or plank training. My God, who knew turkeys could be so revolting they could help you work on your abs? No wonder farmers always seem fit. They probably raise poultry.
Bastard turkeys. On top of it all, they are stupid and belligerent. June and Johnny built them these wooden structures so they could 'roost'. Did the turkeys roost? NO. Well, not until they realized they could flap their fat asses up onto the gate I needed to open to get into their pen. They roosted there. Well, Tomas would just walk up, pick up the turkeys, and toss them back in their pen. So, being the strong equal partner and wife that I am, I walked straight up to a turkey one day that was on the gate. Except that turkey fixed his gimlet stare on me with a challenge in his eyes that threatened deep gouging harm to me if I so much as touched him. So I tried to 'shoo' the turkey. I tried to cajole the turkey.
Nothing.
Well, fuck that. The turkeys and I came to an understanding that day:
The turkeys would not sit on the gate,
And I would not hit the turkeys with the shovel.
I felt it was a reasonable compromise.
So, our time at the farm has long ended. I'm sure I'll be writing more about the animals as there is more to say and tell.
But in the meantime, I have to say, I fell in love. With cows. And pigs. And goats. My diet has changed. I simply cannot look at "beef" and "pork" and not see where it came from anymore.
But having said that, I can say another. We'll be having turkey for Thanksgiving this year. Happily. And if I overcook it? Well then, I'll just cook another one.
Happily.
Yes, I am talking to both of you. Again.
We have much to catch up on, so let's get started. I'll begin with the farming venture. Yep. Tomas and I plunged into farm sitting with reckless abandon. We stole hay. We bought Wellies so we could muck stalls and walk fields with no fear of shit. We even got ourselves some of those deer skin gloves so we didn't have to worry about shit on our hands either.
By the end of that week, we had shit everywhere else, but our feet and hands were clean.
Anyway, I have to say that the week went pretty damn well. My number one fear was unrealized.
No one died.
Praise Jesus! We did everything we could to prevent that from happening and the animals did their part to live. Luigi and I agreed that IF he may have had anything to do with Joe Cocker's untimely demise that he would curtail those "impulses" until after our watch. Of course, we are not in any way suggesting he had anything to do with Joe Cocker's death. At all. Of course not.
So, since everything was going so swimmingly well, it was easy for me to just focus on the animals. And focus I did. So I noticed a few things. Let's start with the pigs.
There were the little pigs. And there is the one big pig. The little pigs all live outside and we would go feed them twice per day, check their water and the fence to make sure they were all safely contained in their world of electrified safety. Pretty simple, right? It was. Until I noticed that the little pigs would follow us as we walked around the pasture surrounding their area. It was actually so cute the first time it happened--we were checking the cows, they saw us and came running with their ears flopping back as they ran straight to us. So cute.
Um. Like dogs.
That leaves the big pig. She lives inside the barn as she is a show pig. They breed her. They will be keeping her for some years. THANK GOD. Because she is A PET. One, they've named her.
Miss Piggy.
She knows her name. She answers to her name. She comes to her name. She wags her tail when you call her by name. She is simply the most charming, endearing, tame pig I have ever seen. Of course, I don't know any pigs. But the point is, I HAD NO IDEA THAT THERE WERE PIGS LIKE MISS PIGGY.
Tomas especially developed a fondness for her. I may rename him Kermit. Stay tuned.
So, next there are the goats. June and Johnny raise dairy goats. So, they have a few goats and they are all named. And they are all pets.
Especially, importantly, most significantly Luigi.
I am bat shit crazy about that goat. Don't get me wrong. I love all the goats. I had no idea goats were such wonderful, crazy, lovable animals.
But Luigi is special.
He's also a male. On a dairy goat farm. Which means he doesn't really have a place. Of course, he doesn't know that. Half-pint has made him into a pet, he has a name, he thinks he's one of the family.
Let's keep it that way.
So, suffice it to say, Tomas and I love the goats. They're smart. They can open gates and figure out how to get what they want. They are funny. And they are supremely affectionate and happy to see "their people". As we are happy to see them. Did I mention they all have names? June, Johnny, Half-pint all seem determined to name their farm animals. Like pets. But I digress.
This sounds so bucolic and granola, right? Peace, love, and happiness, yeah? I'm practically churning my own butter, baking my own bread, and canning my own tomatoes by this point as I'm so "one with nature". Right?
Not quite. For one thing, I realized that when you're working and helping out on the farm, there's no goddamn time to churn, bake or can. There's only time to feed, muck, shower, feed, muck, shower, and repeat all the time.
Also, while I love me some pigs, goats, cows, lambs, rabbits, and cats.....I do not love me some turkeys. In fact, I fucking hate turkeys.
I had no idea.
I mean, Thanksgiving has never really been my favorite holiday. It's true. Because I just think people tend to cook their turkey until it just can't stand anymore. And I thought that before I met my mother-in-law. It's just so easy to make it as dry as a fart.
Ack.
But I didn't hold it against the animal. Until now. Now, I can say I hate those bastards. They are filthy, ridiculous, stupid creatures. Did I mention filthy? Yes? Filthy doesn't cover it. I had no idea any animal could shit so much. And I had no idea shit could look like that. With that consistency.
Like gelatinous goo.
And we haven't even gotten to the smell. I had no idea anything could smell like that. So when you combine that sight with that smell, you provoke a reaction in me that could only be described, in hindsight, as an EPIC GAG.
I had no fucking idea I could produce a SOUND like that. Apparently, neither did Tomas. He thought I was stepping on a turkey. "No, dear. I'm just rearranging my internal organs. I thought it was time to freshen things up in there."
I gagged so hard I was sore after the first day. As if I had started core crunch or plank training. My God, who knew turkeys could be so revolting they could help you work on your abs? No wonder farmers always seem fit. They probably raise poultry.
Bastard turkeys. On top of it all, they are stupid and belligerent. June and Johnny built them these wooden structures so they could 'roost'. Did the turkeys roost? NO. Well, not until they realized they could flap their fat asses up onto the gate I needed to open to get into their pen. They roosted there. Well, Tomas would just walk up, pick up the turkeys, and toss them back in their pen. So, being the strong equal partner and wife that I am, I walked straight up to a turkey one day that was on the gate. Except that turkey fixed his gimlet stare on me with a challenge in his eyes that threatened deep gouging harm to me if I so much as touched him. So I tried to 'shoo' the turkey. I tried to cajole the turkey.
Nothing.
Well, fuck that. The turkeys and I came to an understanding that day:
The turkeys would not sit on the gate,
And I would not hit the turkeys with the shovel.
I felt it was a reasonable compromise.
So, our time at the farm has long ended. I'm sure I'll be writing more about the animals as there is more to say and tell.
But in the meantime, I have to say, I fell in love. With cows. And pigs. And goats. My diet has changed. I simply cannot look at "beef" and "pork" and not see where it came from anymore.
But having said that, I can say another. We'll be having turkey for Thanksgiving this year. Happily. And if I overcook it? Well then, I'll just cook another one.
Happily.