Here’s the honest-to-god truth about living on the farm: Shit happens. A lot of time we’re talking about actual, literal shit (so many animals, you guys, and so much poop), but there’s also a lot of metaphorical shit, and also a lot of holy-shit-did-that-just-happen shit.
For example, since the possible-foundering incident I’ve been super diligent about picking out the donkeys hoofs every day or two, and tonight I’m standing out in the pasture in my sweaty gym clothes trying to keep the mosquitoes off of me while I’ve got a death grip on one of Doc’s rear legs, and because he hates getting his hooves picked he starts thrashing his leg, and because I’m a badass who has been lifting weights for the last two years I double-up my grip on his leg like I’m not giving up that easy, donkey. And then Doc responds to my display of authority by kicking his back leg out so hard that he farts. ‘
That happened.
Have you ever had your face eight inches away from a donkeys ass when he lets loose? No? Okay then. This is what farm life is like sometimes: Donkey farts directly to your face.
And, honestly guys? That’s just the beginning. Here’s some shit that’s been going down on the farm lately.
1.) Tornadoes.
Seriously. This is Michigan, not effing Kansas, but in the three years I’ve lived here I’ve had tornadoes try to tear the roof off my house twice. The first time they passed about 10 miles north and 10 miles south of my house on the very day I’d had all the old shingles torn off the roof and nothing but a big blue tarp protecting the insides.
At the time I thought that was a close call… and then earlier this week, late Monday night (or early Tuesday morning if you’re that kind of person) I started getting calls from concerned family and friends. At 1:30 in the morning. Apparently there was a tornado heading right for my little part of Michigan, but, because I live in an 150 year old house with 16″ thick exterior brick walls, we don’t hear shit when it comes to storms, so I pretty much slept through the whole thing.
I did get out of bed and put a pair of pants on, just in case, and I think that counts for something…
When everyone told me the trouble had passed I went back to bed and didn’t realize until the morning that 3 miles down the road someone had the entire top of their house torn off, and less than a half mile down the road there was a house missing half it’s roof shingles.
So the moral of that story is, I’m goddamn exhausted enough to sleep through a tornado these days. And also, I’m super grateful that the farm is still intact…
If there’s ever a day you feel lucky, it’s the day after a tornado ripped the roof off a house down the street and the throw cushions on your patio furniture didn’t even get blown off…
Effing crazy.
2.) Baby Nugs, or Not.
So, if any of you are calendar watchers (or happen to follow me on Instagram) you know that the female guinea has been sitting on her nest of eggs for about a month now. A normal hatching time for guineas is 26-28 days, and by my calculation that time should have been up between Monday and Wednesday of last week, so I’ve been on Guinea Watch for a full week…
Day 26, nothing…
Day 28, nothing…
Day 30, nothing…
At this point, I’m convinced I have nothing but a pissed-of guinea sitting on a bunch of unfertilized eggs. I’m sure I have to get her off the nest, but does this look like the face of a bird that is going to be quietly removed from her nest?
Hell no.
So I decide to let her spend another week on the nest, and just today I walked out there to check on her, and it took me a minute to realize what I was seeing…
That’s a very territorial guinea and also a dead baby chick (or keet, in this case) right outside the nest.
So, holy shit, those eggs are fertilized. And apologies for anyone who finds this graphic, but I managed to get the dead keet away from the nest, and it looks like it didn’t fully hatch..
Poor little nuggle. I know this happens sometimes, but I don’t know if it means there’s a possibility that the other eggs will hatch successfully soon or not… So I just decided to give mama another week on the nest and see what happens. She’s certainly in good enough health to try and forcibly remove one of my fingers when I try to check her eggs, so she’s probably good to hang out on the nest for a while longer…
I have no idea if I’m hoping the 21 remaining eggs hatch or not at this point, so we’re just going to wait and see what happens.
3.) Broody Chickens
Turns out my female guinea isn’t the only broody bird on the farm… I’ve had one Nug who decided to go broody and try to hatch her non-fertilized eggs a few weeks ago. My failsafe for this is putting any broody hens in “chicken jail” (a dog crate set on top of a pallet) to break them of their desire to hatch things, but I also have found that if I just remove them from their nests a few nights in a row, they may decide not to sit because of it, and it’s far less stressful for all of us.
So, one evening last week– let’s say around 7 PM when it’s still plenty light outside– I walk out to the barn and notice my broody hen sitting on her nest. I also may or may not have been drinking a bottle of wine at this point, but, regardless, I knew I wanted to get the chicken off the nest and also that I didn’t want to spend 20 minutes walking back to the house and fruitlessly searching for a pair of gloves.
Luckily, I had a “better” idea. I was wearing a sleeveless tank top at the time, and I figured if I just took my shirt off (I’m in a barn after all, who is going to see me?) and tossed it over the hen, she wouldn’t be able to peck me as I lifted her off the nest. So… I did.
I took my shirt off, and tossed it over the hen with the intent of covering her head. Right? That makes sense. That’s a good idea. And in no version of reality did I envision tossing my shirt over that chickens head in such a way that her head came through the arm holes. Swear to god, you could not do that shit if you tried. I freehand tossed my shirt over a chicken and she basically ended up wearing it, which meant two very important things…
- Her head– and therefore her beak– was still very much uncovered and able to peck the shit out of me if I got my hand near her.
- I was now standing inside my barn, not wearing a shirt… the chicken was wearing my shirt.
My options at this point were to attempt to remove my shirt from said chicken without losing a finger, or to walk back to my house in my bra and find a new shirt and pair of gloves. In broad daylight when everyone is driving home from work.
What. The. Shit.
I’m just going to let you all play out the possible scenarios for how that ended and let you pick the most likely one…
This is my life, you guys. And I love every goddamned a-doneky-just-farted-in-my-face-and-a-chicken-stole-my-shirt minute of it. Not glamorous… but it’s still pretty awesome.
