When Country Comes to Town

I am madder than a wet hen.  And I even know what that means now.

Today started off with much hope and promise.

Actually, it didn’t really.  I knew it was going to be a drag, but it turned out to be a HORRIFIC day, laced with sweat, a hostile rooster, and rabbit urine.

Allow me to elaborate.  If I may.

Today was the day I was to haul the animals to the fair.  David and the children had picked out the lucky contestants and got them all caged and ready to go in the garage.  I simply had to load the caged creatures into the pickup, along with my four children, and toodle on down the road to the county fair.

However.

There is something wrong with David’s truck.  Imagine that.  The back tailgate is extremely hard to lower and I could not get it to lower.  Have you ever tried to hoist a cage full of rabbits and/or chickens into a truck with the fear of the urine from the urine tray pouring out onto yourself?

Have you?

Have you?

Hmmm?

I called my beloved.  I informed him of the truck problem.  He apologized, like a smart man should.  I told him I could not lift the huge Daddy Woo-Ster cage up over the side of the truck.  He suggested I drag over the chicken butchering table, get the rooster on to that, and then stand in the truck and lift the rooster into the truck that way.

Yes.  We have a chicken butchering table.  Don’t you?

His brilliant idea worked and Sweet Pea and I were able to load one rooster, three hens, two adult rabbits, and five small baby-like rabbits into the back of the truck.  Because we are farm and ranch gals now.

Folks.

This is what they mean by the phrase, “When Country Comes To Town.”

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, had to drive that truck packed full of rabbits and our fowl friends 45 minutes into town.

Ironically enough, when I turned on the radio, David’s favorite country station was playing this song:

I found it to be quite fitting.  Although I don’t live in Louisiana.  FYI.

Because of last year’s fiasco, I informed David that he would, most assuredly, be meeting me at the fairgrounds to help with the registration of our furred and feathered friends.

So, we get there and Oh!  Fun Fact.

We had to pre-register. There is no room and my four darling children and their cherished, albeit stinky, animals are turned away.

The horror!

The audacity!

The gall!

David had to rush back to work and I had a big problem on my hands.  Daisy Mae, who was having severe ear pain and running a fever, was scheduled for a doctor’s appointment in one hour.  I was thinking it would not be the wisest decision to leave all the animals out in the hot sun in the back of the truck whilst we were at the doctor.  Might be frowned upon.  But what do I know?

I needed to claim sanctuary for the animals somewhere.  My parents’ house is on the market and was scheduled for three showings today.  I was pretty sure me dropping off 11 farm animals at their place would not be groovy.

I called my inlaws.  Their house, which is also, ironically, for sale, was available to act as an animal shelter today so we toodled on down the road to their place.  Sweet Pea and I laid newspaper on the ground and began the fun process of  unloaded the animals out of the truck.

The Daddy Wooster was none to happy with us and started to fly around all crazy-like in his cage, causing Sweet Pea to almost drop her end.

Don’t fret!

She kept her cool.

So, we rushed to the doctor and Daisy Mae is in tears at this point.  And instead of the hot sun I was worried about, there was instead a huge thunderstorm outside, so I suppose that would have been a less than ideal environment for the animals to socialize in while being caged in the back of the truck.

Daisy Mae has a nasty ear infection.  You can all rest easy now knowing her diagnosis.

We went and grabbed her medicine and hit the grocery store, because us country folk must make the most of every trip to town.  Then we went to collect the animals.

This time, we had to lift all the cages without the help of a chicken butchering table.

We loaded them up and cleaned up the pee-pee newspapers, but there was a bit of urine and hay still on my inlaws’ garage floor.

I didn’t want to be known as THAT person who leaves rabbit urine on other people’s garage floors, so the girls and I poured water on the pee pee and then had to pick out the hay with our FINGERS in the URINE water.

And my inlaws do not have one bit of soap on their property.  Not a lick.

I needed coffee in a big, bad way, so we headed to Starbucks to grab some and wash our grimy, country hands.

And I am pretty sure that I am the only person who has parked a truck loaded with 4 chickens and 7 rabbits at a Starbucks.

I could be wrong, but we all know I’m not.

I was absolutely amazed at how well my kids handled this situation.  They had been looking forward to entering animals into the fair all year long, but not one of them whined or did any sort of fit-throwing.  I really appreciated that.

Because if they did, I might have snapped.

So.  We are home.  The animals are all safely back where they belong, exhausted from their exciting, albeit unnecessary field trip.  Daisy Mae is feeling better.  I am sweaty and stinky.  David is still at work.

So.  Ask me how the SECOND day of school went.

Go on.  Ask.

PS- I never wanted to be a hillbilly.

Honest.