I'm up here in north Florida, visiting my sister on her 20-acre hobby farm. She has horses, dogs, cats, rabbits, geese, turkeys, peacocks, and chickens.
I do okay with the four-legged residents.
I've learned not to flinch when the horses crowd me when I'm carrying a feed bucket.
I've figured out how to judge the impact and brace for it when Alex, the full grown and wildly energetic bloodhound, comes bounding my way. I've learned which barn cats like to be petted, and which will shred any appendage you extend to them in friendship.
But the birds? I can't stand the birds.
I nearly wet myself the first time one of the bantam roosters came at me all claws and attitude, nearly scarring my shins for life.
I clench my teeth every time I put down grain for the geese, because they have the mistaken notion that pecking at my butt is somehow an incentive for me to get the food down faster.
The peacocks and turkeys run all over the place, and the stupid peacocks sleep in the trees and ... well, you don't want to lean against the trees at night with peacocks overhead.
The hens are OK. Hens lay eggs, and I like eggs.
Now, I know I'm not much use here on the farm, so when I find a way to do something to save Tracie a little bit of time or energy when I'm visiting, I do my best.
A few months ago, she mentioned that "the girls" were pretty productive, and that she needed egg cartons so she could share the largesse with some of her friends. I started saving egg cartons. Brought them with me this trip.
The morning after I got here, I decided to help by tackling the morning feeding ritual. I noticed there were about a dozen eggs ready to be gathered. Great! I could do that! I got an empty egg carton, filled it up, and put it in the fridge.
When Tracie got home from work, I let her know that I'd saved her the trip to the henhouse to gather her eggs.
The horrified look on her face told me I'd just made another "city mouse" mistake.
Seems Tracie was planning to increase her flock, and these weren't eating eggs. They were breeding eggs, and I'd just committed mass murder.
The chances of my getting the hang of country living don't look too good ...
