Bulls, chicks, and mud... a saga in country
This morning, I went out to feed the animals. I got down there and found 20 odd chicks running loose. It was raining and muddy, and I started chasing chicks and throwing them into the coop (through the torn screen.) I found myself wondering what tore the screen, how many chicks were missing etc. As I was chasing the chicks, Samson (the bull) decided that he was tired of being ignored, and it was time for some serious petting. One problem... Samson is no longer a baby, he just thinks that he is.
So, there I am running around the shed catching chicks and throwing them back into the coop and suddenly I discover that I am being chased by a bull. It worked fine as long as I kept moving. Until... Suddenly, while walking between the coop and the fence, where it is EXTREMELY muddy, Samson decides to butt my... er.... ummm.... backside. Grabbing the fence, I manage to stay semi-upright. Phew! disaster averted! Two steps and two head butts later, I discover that there is a piece of plywood under several inches of slick mud. Disaster had only been postponed. I am SOOOOO glad that no one was around with a camera.
So the chase resumes. Now, I am running around and around the shed, catching chicks and being "butted" (quite literally) all the way around, only this time, I am covered in mud!
I FINALLY catch all but two chicks, who must have eaten their wheaties that morning, because their strength and endurance defied all efforts to coax, cajol, threaten, or frighten them into subjection. (The threat of a soup pot did nothing to encourage their cooperation. I should have known better.)
After giving up on those two, I start an unsuccessful search for a staple gun, and finally decide to gather some nails and a hammer. Seeing no evidence of a step ladder, I climb up on a bucket... Oops!!! How could I forget about Samson? Next thing I know, I find myself flat on my back... in the mud... again!!!
Time to resume the game of "tag" with the bull, but this time I outwit him by running into the shed, and quickly squeezing out while he's trying to turn around. With Samson locked up, I safely (Is teetering precariously on a bucket considered "safely?") finish my repair job on the chicken coop, leaving the 2 errant chicks to their own devices.
The screen is fixed, goats, chickens and bull are fed and watered, and the eggs have been gathered and cleaned. I really need to get back down to the pile of muddy clothes in the basement, but first? I think I'll go swimming.