Another guest post from our ever humerous, Nancy Broadley. I have had only scant hints of snow all winter here in NE Oklahoma, but up North, it’s a whole different story…
And…
I am snow fatigued. Yes, there is a condition in the North East that is snow fatigue and after three Nor’ Easters in the span of two weeks I’ve had enough. So on this morning hubby is out, bundled up in a snow suit, pushing the blasted white stuff out of the driveway…I am still in my pajama’s and wrapped in my blue and white Eyore bathrobe. I can hear the prisoners squawking for breakfast and I dread the thought of slumping my way through two feet of snow, carrying a water pail, to feed and water the little buggers…
So, tired and grumpy, I yell to hubby and in my sweetest voice, convince him to give me the morning off and take care of the squawking little beasts. Peckerhead has been crowing since before daylight, the Little Nasties quacking loudly as his back up band. And it continues to snow. And I am finding myself angry about it all. I want spring…the winter has been too long by months already….I dream of warm misty mornings, coffee on the front deck and watching the sun rise. It is a nice dream.
Hubby slogs his way through the snow after I give him careful directions on what I do to settle the prisoners. Fighting through the outer pen gate, which is icy and frozen, he fills the Little Nasties water dish. He can’t close the outer pen door…it is frozen to the ground. I watch from the front porch with a grin on my face…he doesn’t do prisoner duties often and now he is getting a taste of what I’ve been dealing with all winter.
Next he makes his way to the coop where I hear a ruckus going on. I wonder if he’s walking into a riot…the prisoners sound awfully rowdy in there. I hear him talking and listen in closely.
“Get back!”
Squawk!
“Move you idiots so I can get to the dish!”
Squawk!
“What the! Get off of me!”
Squawk, squawk!!!!
“I’m going to punt you like a football if you come at me, you jerk!”
(Here I am guessing with a smile on my face that Peckerhead is ruffling his feathers and threatening my husband. The thought makes me chuckle.)
I suddenly hear a crash and then hubby lets loose with a string of threats, swears and grunts.
“You little **expletory**! I’ll show you!”
More crashing greets my ears and now I am just about rolling with laughter as I watch hubby quickly let himself out the coop door looking a bit hassled and hurried.
He looks at me and shakes his head.
“When was the last time you fed those little beasts? They attacked me getting to the food for God’s sake!”
Laughing I followed him into the house.
“Every day, twice a day. They are not starving, although every morning you would think they are by the way they attack their food dishes.”
He shook his head.
“You need a baseball bat…that **another expletory** rooster is mean! I thought he was going to take my dang head off and the others would be picking my bones bloody!”
Smiling I nodded….yes, they are unruly little creatures…unpredictable and often plotting and planning their human caretakers demise in probably the most gruesome of ways.
“Ummm, did you happen to gather the eggs?” I asked with a grin.
“STOP!” he replied.
So, needless to say, I did have to venture through the mountains of snow…..my breakfast was not going to gather itself…
“Bring a baseball bat.” Hubby warned me as I slid on my pink muck boots and headed out the door.
“Awwww…honey, I got this covered.” I said as I grabbed the broom on my way out.
There is no taming of the beasts in Broadley Penitentiary…only quiet and uneasy chaos….but I am still top dog…
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