My sciatic nerve has been the basis for which I can only assume - God decided it was time for me to figure out that I don’t have to kiss any butt belonging to anything on my property that never sits at our dining room table for meals.
Carlie is in Jail at this time.
She’s about two-thirds of the way to discovering that she does not run the show around here.
Having the guts to learn how to open this latch on the back porch gate - from the inside - has backfired on “ Ms. Cow With No Legs - Sexy Feet - Spicy Bitch. “
Let me not forget to mention - she also has the head of a bull. I’ve discovered this wench will take an ass-whippin’ without a care in the world - if it means having a good time with her own “ bucket list. “
Last week - she broke out and managed to find out she can scoot that awkward body of hers under the main gate to get into the pasture.
And she went for the glory of rolling in this - for the very first time in her life.
She spent the night on the front porch - only because I took pity on her when a storm brought loads of wind with the cold air that came through after the rain passed.
But I gave her a bath that very next morning. And apparently - she’s decided “ it’s all good. “ with an attitude and assumption that it's no big deal. She may have to face that fly swatter. But at the end of the day - Mom will just give her a bath and let her back inside the house.
We have tried chaining her to the gate - unable to sit down - barely able to reach her water. The hope dwelled within the idea that she would begin to dislike that gate.
She began barking forever - until I walked out and strapped the muzzle on her nose.
I knew the cows would come stepping up close enough to square up that coward behavior she pulls - barking from a distance and running when whatever she’s teasing gets close enough.
As her behavior has proven - her attention span is more like attention blink. I dunno what the wench is thinking. “ New day - New gate, “ - maybe?
Either way - we are down to the fly swatter - the muzzle - and buying a new latch for the back porch gate. I guess we'll have to see how long it takes before she gets her gut full of what we have on hand to offer.
While this battle takes place - The Girls decide to pull their crap one time too many. Or - maybe I just needed those muscle relaxers to put me in a proper frame of mind for showing them who is boss - as well?
All 8 of ‘em have pissed me off - to the point of being over it all. Anyone that knows me - knows - when I’m done - I’m done.
And I’m done kissin’ butts on the fluffy end of every one of these 8 wenches.
No more light turned on at the end of the day - or before daybreak. No more fresh water every couple of hours - treats - show game feed - sweet talk - heater in the winter - fan in the heat of summer - putting their food out in the little yard so they can “ dine like they’re southern belles eating brunch out on the viranda. “
The cords have been rolled up and put back into the shed. The heater has been put back inside the basement. Hadn’t - yet - needed to pull out the fan. Not goin' to - either.
I let ‘em see me put fresh water in their bowls - before just opening the door to the little yard and turning ‘em out. If they want their food - they can walk their happy asses up to inside the coop and find it.
Not sure if they’ve gotten the message - or not. But all of a sudden - I’ve found 2 eggs within a half-hour.
And that was after giving 2 of 'em a broom upside their fluffy butts because they were just standing on the perch landing - screaming their heads off - while 2 other girls were camping out in a nesting box.
Until this happened - we were on the 3rd day since finding an egg. Their feed was enhanced - plenty of protein - plenty of oyster shell. You name it - these girls have been spoiled to the point that there is no way in Hell any of them can continue claiming they’re molting any longer.
All I know is this. I’m done.
And if I don’t see a 60 percent rise in the count of eggs by the time this bag of feed is gone…
They better hope the bugs show up.