By Any Other Name

A Thing by any other name would still be a stinker.  Going in to my side of the feed barn, the small room I was allotted to keep the chicken feed and my craft and gardening supplies, I found that Thing had taken revenge because I had picked up and put those red plastic whatevers out of his reach in the big room.  Thing had chewed a large hole in a box of new Christmas ornaments and it must have been hard work to pull one of the slippery globes up and out (the box was in a bucket) in order to dash it on the floor, but Thing, aka The Grinch, was determined.  Picking up the broken shards, I considered this a declaration of war.

I heard the skitter-skatter of feet through the leaves as I filled the water pan for the wild things and looked up to see turkeys running toward me.  The hens barely waited for me to put the pan down before dipping their beaks.  The look on Bessie's face says it all.

Every morning I throw a minimum of six used diaper/udder wipes in the bucket.  Every morning for the past week the bucket has been empty.  It's pretty obvious that the mice and ground squirrel mamas are stocking up on fresh bedding for the winter.  It's been a dry October with mild temperatures and it seems early to me to be getting ready for cold and wet, but I've learned to watch the signs and if the little ones tell me it's time, then it behooves me to get my act together now and finish battening the hatches.

Thing and the wild things have taken over the farm.