For the past month we have been going out to Mom's property on Sundays to help out since my super awesome, kick ass Step Daddy passed away. My Mom isn't one to ask for help, she was planning on taking care of the 10 acres and the animals herself. Darling Husband had to tell her we were coming out to work on the fencing. Mom felt bad about this, but she appreciated it.
As we were replacing the top rails of the fence Darling Husband noticed the posts that had to be replaced. The rails were attached to the good posts and now it was a matter of getting the smaller tractor to start so he could use the auger on it. The last two Sundays were spent on just the small tractor. I couldn't really help with this so Mom gave me a project inside the house. She wanted to put my obsessive attention to detail and organizing talents to work.
My kept daughter refers to me as the Family Paparazzi, but what she doesn't realize is that her Gran'ma was the same way (still kind of is). My kept daughters life is completely documented with pictures, maybe this comes from losing my First Daughter to adoption, or maybe I learned this from my Mother, or maybe I'm just a crazy Mom who carries a camera in her purse.
My project inside the house was to pull out all of the pictures from their albums in put them in photo boxes. The albums were big and bulky and were taking up too much space. I have spent the last three Sundays (we are taking off today) gathering and organizing pictures. Photographic documentation dating back to the 1930's.
Going through all of these pictures has been tedious work. I had piles scattered all over the living room, piles of pictures for each decade. Every once in a while I would have to stop and take a break. I would step out onto the driveway and watch the turkeys in their pens, the peacocks running with the guinea hens, the horses wandering through the their pastures and the chickens running around the house like they were children.
Two weeks ago Mom came home from Church. I was standing on the driveway talking to her as my kept daughter was petting a chicken. These damn chickens think they are pets!! I had a unlit cigarette in one hand and my lighter in the other.
Yes, I smoke...don't give me crap about it, just be glad it's cigarettes and not drugs or alcohol. I think I'm doing pretty good if smoking is the only bad habit I have picked up.
Anyways...I'm standing there talking to Mom. Next thing I knew my unlit cigarette was ripped out of my hand. I was shocked! I looked down and one of those damn chickens was running off with it!! Mom was cracking up. The chicken had jumped up and snatched my cigarette and ran off with it!!!
Turns out a couple of days after my super awesome, kick ass Step-Daddy's funeral my Mom's friend came into town. The friend and my Aunt were feeding the chickens broccoli, dipped in Ranch Dressing. The chickens went nuts over the Ranch Dressing so they were able to train the chickens to jump and get the broccoli. They were training these chickens like they were dogs!!