I was out in our barn feeding our seven chickens.
“Hellooo Chickens!” I sang in a high falsetto voice (a voice I would not use in public, or even around any creature other than a dim-witted chicken.) I was trying to sound like my grandmother did when I was seven years old and tagged along with her on egg-gathering chores.
As I threw corn out on the floor of the chicken house yesterday, it occurred to me that feeding these birds is an absolutely money-losing proposition. Our chickens are old and way, way past their egg-laying prime. Leah and I pony-up for expensive, organic chicken feed, but might (on a good day) find two eggs in the nest boxes. But we’re soft hearts. We keep feeding the dizzy old dames.
The sheep came into the barn. They know the routine: The chickens get fed, then I put hay into the sheep feeder. The uncharitable thought occurred to me: EVERYBODY out in the barn WANTS something from me! “What’s in this deal for ME?”
Well, for one thing, I shot a couple of pictures yesterday that I kind of enjoy. Standing there in the chicken room, I liked the way our Shetland sheep Sweet Pea looked when I peeked at him through the dusty, cobweb-covered chicken wire. Putting the camera back into my pocket, I went out to give the sheep their hay, whereupon Sweet Pea pushed his face up into my hand. My fleecy friend likes it when I scratch his face in the morning (this too is a part of our daily routine.)
So... in answer to my own question of what I get out of this?...
I receive the trusting friendship of animals, and I get a couple of minutes of absolute peace. It’s a pretty good deal if you ask me.
