Who's The Boss?

Master of all I survey?  Right.  The thought that I'm in charge here is just that, a reassuring illusion in my mind.  Who do I think I'm kidding anyhow?  My day revolves around the animals.  Can't go to breakfast or make morning appointments; have to feed and milk.  Evening activities depend on the time of year; have to put the critters in before dark.  Bess wants out/in?  Of course I stop whatever I'm doing and open the door.  Celeste asks so nicely but persistently for a treat that I weaken and open the bag, put out a few, then stand there and wait for Ralph to mosey in.  Who in her right mind carries a chicken around while tending the flock?  That would be me.  Even the mice have me well trained.

The turkeys have gone too far.  This not a self-serve establishment.  It's not as if they didn't get breakfast every morning, and I did not appreciate finding the bag of chicken scratch torn open and the contents spilled in the back of the pickup.  I'd loved to have blamed it on the dadratted ground squirrels, but they are just that, ground squirrels.  It's my own darned fault because it was too hot when I got home to unload the feed and I thought, it being so dry now, that it wouldn't hurt to leave it until morning.

I am not the boss.