A Rooster Named Gladys...

Well when it rains it surely pours, doesn't it?

My chickens are still in lockdown with the not so friendly neighborhood fox laying in wait. 

My husband, ever the sympathetic one, decided he had himself a great solution to chicken lock down. 

Why he would open up a  spot in the chicken run, straight into the goats corral. 

Oh brilliant!  

You know, this certainly could have been the best of both world. 

The chickens & ducks would be safe AND have plenty of room to roam during the day. My husband wouldn't feel guilt ridden at their no free range plight, a win win right across the board. You know what they say about best lain plans.

My husband doesn't understand something. A critical component missing in his brilliant little compromise. It just so happens that my husband does not have a target painted on his back by a Rooster named Gladys. 

Now Gladys and I coexist simply because we have a system, a mutual agreement if you will. I keep my golf club with me and he won't impale me,..again. 

Every morning I head down to the barn. I fill all the waterers, scatter chicken food and then open the
chicken run door with my trusty golf club in hand. 

Gladys ever Gladys always makes a few attempts at impaling me for good measure just before putting his attention to overseeing the feeding of his girls. Me, I head off to the girls side of the goat corral. I leave my golf club at the corral gate. In the goat corral I am safe. I can go mindlessly about my business of feeding the goats, making sure everyone is a 100% with pink eyes, wet bellies and ravenous appetites without even a thought in Gladys's direction. Finishing up, I reclaim my golf club and head back to the house. 

Gladys and I walk ever so "well ain''t that nice " up to the hill with my the golf club squarely planted on Gladys chest. Side by side we go until we reach the back deck wherein Gladys waves his wing while letting out a palpable little snicker and I give him my one finger salute and we ceremoniously part ways. It is ridiculous, tedious even, but it is our system of coexisting and it has worked for years. 

Well my husband great plan has completely thrown our little system for a loop.
Here I was unsuspecting, basking in the first light of a lovely spring day, the birds singing, the sun shining, my golf club clutched loosely in my fist as I skipped on down to the barn. A short lived embrace of the morning came to a halt as my heart stopped, breathe caught in my throat to have my eyes come to rest upon the sight of an empty run. 

No, not from the fox, but from my husband and his big brilliant idea. I quickly scanned the area and my eyes came to rest on a horrific sight in the goat corral, there stood Gladys, with a big old now whatchagonna do smile spread across his beak. 

You have got to be kidding! What the heck is this! 

I headed for the run while I mulled over my options, fed the little chicks in the brooder, cursed my husband, called my husband to complain, then scattered some seed in the run in hopes of coaxing Gladys and his hens back in. Oh yes every single hen headed into the run according to plan, everyone that is but Gladys. 

So I had to just suck it up, put on my big girl pants and move forward. Gladys as ever Gladys decided it was full on attack. So I dropped my golf club and picked up a snow shovel, this was definitely a war and only a fool brings a knife to a gun fight. So here I stood, the mighty shovel in hand, undies in a bunch, 11 goats circling my legs with murder, that's right murder in my heart. My neighbors were probably covering their ears in attempt to keep my truck driving tirade at bay, or more likely aiming their iPhones right at the whole fiasco with great anticipation of posting my morning rumble later on YouTube for all their friends and family to indulge in, as a nice follow up to their most recent post "my neighbor checks her goats who ha's dressed like Mrs. Lupner from SNL".

Just another day at Farm Fresh Daily. I honestly was never so relieved to make my way to the top of the hill, and I did, yes I did stop and turn back to the corral and in keeping with tradition I wholeheartedly gave my little salute with the gusto of any self respecting Italian from Jersey!

The afternoon is coming and I am honestly just sick to my stomach about it. Gladys and I without our system do not work well together. My husband and his brilliant ideas.

So anyhow, living simply,..not so simple always.