Changes

Just as acquiring animals changes one's routines and habits, so does losing them (I prefer the former).  Down to three goats now and only two milkers, barn chores go quickly.  I enjoy the goats; they are quirky, productive, (sometimes) affectionate animals.  My first two, Lucy and Ruth, were bought on a spur-of-the moment decision.  Had I realized how restrictive they were, I might have had second thoughts, but probably not.  Where would I go and what would I do anyhow?  They, and all animals, in my opinion, give purpose to life.

I enjoy the goats, but it was the chickens that gave me joy.  I could sit and watch them for hours.  They're such busy little creatures, taking off running for no apparent reason, taking dust baths in the summer, doing the chicken dance (scratch, scratch, scratch, take two steps back to see if a tidbit had been uncovered, and do it all over again), and talking.  Chickens talk all the time.  After awhile, you realize they have a fairly extensive vocabulary with clucks and squawks and just plain sociable chatting as the occasion demands.  Deb and I went together to buy my first chicks after Steve had built a fenced pen next to what had been a storage shed, and I've not been without a flock ever since.  At one time I had as many as forty.

Since the first six, I've always said that if my garbage disposal had to depend on what I feed it, it would starve.  All vegetable trimmings would go to the chickens, and the flock would come tumbling down the ramp to see if there were goodies in with the scratch.  Now I'm in a dilemma.  I guess the too-soft zucchini on the counter and the stem end of a couple of tomatoes will go to the turkeys.  I'd send the garbage disposal into shock if I started giving it a full meal.  Unneeded milk always went to the chickens.  It was painful to throw it down the drain yesterday.

It's a good thing humans are adaptable and can cope with change, because it's the one sure thing in life.  Nothing stays the same.