Last night Princess decided to sleep in the barn with her girlfriends.
Her eight chicks huddled outside ‘the nursery’ not knowing what to do.
I sh-sh’d them into the nursery and tucked them in under the heating lamp.
Tonight the two turkeypoults decided they were not going to sleep in the nursery.
The bigger one came into the barn.
Jumped up on the trash can.
Jumped up on the tractor (ok, it’s really a ride-on lawn mower but just like I call my Honda Pilot a truck I call my mower a tractor).
Jumped up on a bale of alfalfa hay sitting on a shelf.
Jumped up on the top of two bales of hay on the same shelf.
Jumped up on an adjacent stack of hay.
Jumped up on a rafter.
A RAFTER! Yahooo!!!
She did it!!*
Then she jumped down to the ground to tell her little turkey friend all about it.
They ran out around the barn for a quick drink.
Water, not a beer.
What mother could resist telling their almost fourteen year old –
“See, that’s how you tackle life’s challenges, one step at a time.
*My dear daughter insists this turkey is a boy; I insist, as a mother of daughters, a feminist of sorts, and a writer, that I have the right to present this turkey as a girl, because, really, I have no idea, nor does my daughter, as to how one determines the sex of a turkey poult. And frankly I have no interest or need to obtain that skill! I will admit, as a farmer who has raised quite a few turkeys – I think this turkey is a boy, I first wrote this blog in the masculine, and then I went back and changed it. Shhh….don’t tell my daughter!