I had two main goal this evening: Get ready for tomorrows out of town gymnastics meet & get out of helping harvest the turkeys. I mean honestly on the very day I buy my first real girl shoes Colb says, "Wear something you can wash blood off of...." Give me a break. But out of obligation I wander out back to see this.
"So do I really have to help you? Because I would make you a deal. You handle the turkeys and I will give birth to all our children. How many more you want?"
He laughed, his vasectomy holding strong (I'd know I helped do it, it comes with a money back guarantee!),
"Baby, you don't have to help me." He said kissing me on the head.
I lingered a little bit in the cold feeling guilty for wimping out. And trying to feel sorry for the turkey's. Trying to understand in a few moments they would be dead & that seems like a pretty permanent condition to me. As I am getting a few bad shots of them with the camera one grabs a baby chicken by the neck and starts shaking it like a rag doll!!! I gabbed the turkey pulling her off the baby chick who drops in the mud limp.
Mother F*&%er!!! I can't wait to eat you!
"Turkey's last day at camp," Colby says smoothly.
"Damn straight it is!"
And if you have been to the farm and you are asking where is Turkey number three he really did drop dead the other day when the coffee pot quit working. Causation or correlation?
Oh & don't worry Herk, she is fine, as usual her pardon came through...
I can help next time. My parents bought an "urban farm" when I was in high school in about 1976. I've killed my share of chickens and ducks with an axe and a tree stump, not to mention dipped carcasses in boiling water, plucked pin feathers, and taken out gizzards (all while sitting in a garage in the middle of winter in northeastern Ohio. Tell Colby to call me when the going gets tough and you've gone out shopping for girly shoes :-)
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