Living in the county has its perks. I don't have to worry if the kids ride their bikes down the road, I know everyone around me, and if I hear a gunshot I feel more safe rather than less.
But there are also a few things that make life far more interesting than city life.
Like chickens.
Today, the weather was incredible and we had all the doors open while dinner was cooking. The kids were in and out of the house, riding bikes and checking in on their waffle status (because waffles for dinner? Heck yeah) The chickens (who don't belong to us) were running around the yard chasing grasshoppers and ignoring Shucks' requests to get in his belly.
Until one fowl rebel decides to come in the house and see what's up. The kids started freaking out "There's a CHICKEN IN THE HOUSE!!!!! MOMMMAAAYYYY!"
The chicken wasn't scared of the kids at all, but joined in on the freaking out because everyone else was doing it and she figured there must be a good reason. She also figured that reason was outside, so she ran further into the house. When chickens get freaked out, they also poop. So, quite naturally, she ran through Dalton's bedroom pooping all over the floor. When that got boring, she jumped up on his bed and pooped there too. Because really, why not???
We tried to shoo her outside, but she hadn't forgotten that the Thing About Which To Be Freaked Out was out there, and didn't want to go. So she ran into the girls' bedroom.
When I had a kid, we had a rooster named Loodle-Loo. Sometimes, to escape from our dogs, he would run into the house. Natural laws for the rooster, lined up exactly with my two year old brother's, including the "if I can't see you then you clearly can't see me" rule. So Loodle-Loo would hide his head in a corner and make worried clucking sounds until the dogs gave up.
I guess this is universal, because this chicken also hid her head in a corner. I tried to make her leave and go out, so she hopped into the girls' wardrobe and stuck her face in that corner. Eventually, I had to pick her up and take her outside and set her down. She glared at me without moving for a good thirty seconds, then strode away in a huff. I thought that would be the end of that.
Little did I know.
Halfway through dinner, I hear noises at the front door. Our little chicken friend had gone and told all her buddies that I was having a chicken tea party or something, because the entire flock was lined up on my front porch waiting to get in. I told them no, but one chicken didn't like that and I had to physically take her house of my house twice before I finally chased her all the way home and shut my gate and my front door.
And the moral of the story is: No matter how old my kids get, how well-trained my dog is, how many animals/children I don't let move in with me, I will -- forever and always -- be dealing with crap.
