Posts tagged CHORES
My Blue Zen
art, small farming, and being human.
Well today was relaxing if not slightly boring but at least I finished my nephew’s hat while it’s still winter. Tomorrow is chore day. chicken and goat area clean up. I have sat on my ass long enough for one weekend.
Good Morning
Well. It is morning anyway. 8:18 to be exact. I wanted to sleep in at some point but it never works out.
The dogs woke us up promptly at 6:30 so there was really no other option other than to let them out and feed them or lock them in a closet. And that last one is just not nice. Once the dogs go out, the goats wake up and want food. Once I go out to feed the goats, the cats come running from their nocturnal prowling ground and insist on being fed. When someone goes to make coffee so we aren’t so grumpy during all of this, Miestro, the cockatiel, starts in.
Tell me again. Why exactly do we have so many freaking animals? At least the chickens have a bulk feeder. And the goldfish can’t bark/meow/neigh/squack. I am liking goldfish more these days.
This has been a serious series of posts about my day. I hope you have enjoyed the adventures I had with a rake today.
And it is officially fall. Raked SO MANY PINE NEEDLES!
All four of us went out and cleaned the goat pen today. I like when the kids help. It’s great hearing the commentary about poop in shoes and up noses. Good times.
The goats were a lot of help. They made sure our piles didn’t get too high by walking through them. They also snuck though the gate to run around the back yard a while. That was fun.
Don’t they look thankful? Maybe not.
I know why people used to have lots of kids in the Ol’ Days.
Chores.
I’m going to be so pissed at you if you didn’t leave the pile of hay that’s been rotting in goat shit and piss for the last seven months for me. #truelove.
Darling, I had to. It’s been way too long. I didn’t do enough to hurt my shoulder. I left most of it for you because I know how you really like rotting hay. Mmmm smells like teen spirit.
Well the goat kids have been disbudded with the help of my 16 year old son. He really didn’t want to help and protested quite a bit, but when it came down to it he was a big help. Nasty work that was. Your welcome, Honey.
