This year has been about clearing away the decades of accumulated "stuff" that George Carlin would have called "shit" because it wasn't his. So much gets dragged home over years of raising a child. I'm stunned really. I'm getting to the end of it though, and the space is getting taken up by chickens, at least outdoors, or in my mind.
The last big thing to go was a lovely old desk of my grandfather's. I'm not good with things. They deteriorate faster under my stewardship than my ancestors would have hoped. My brother is another story. He is good with stuff- fixing it and maintaining it.
He came by today to pick the desk up while Buck circled around with a question mark hanging over his comb.
"That was my future roost."
After loading it, we sat out back with a cup of tea and some light conversation. Buck noticed that the stranger who was changing the environment without presenting bribes or identification was within reach.
Unlike my other visitor who was a little bit nervous about the gallus monstrous, my brother ignored his attempts to point out who was in charge. Buck stomped around the lawn furniture in tighter circles. He snapped viciously at the potted herbs around our feet, pausing between attacks to evaluate the level of response.
Just before leaving, Buck demonstrated one of my favorite tricks. Being hand fed. One peck to see if it's edible, if yes, a second peck at the hand holding the treat to engage the "drop - the - food" reflex.
Buck loves donuts. He's a good cop.
The last big thing to go was a lovely old desk of my grandfather's. I'm not good with things. They deteriorate faster under my stewardship than my ancestors would have hoped. My brother is another story. He is good with stuff- fixing it and maintaining it.
He came by today to pick the desk up while Buck circled around with a question mark hanging over his comb.
"That was my future roost."
After loading it, we sat out back with a cup of tea and some light conversation. Buck noticed that the stranger who was changing the environment without presenting bribes or identification was within reach.
Unlike my other visitor who was a little bit nervous about the gallus monstrous, my brother ignored his attempts to point out who was in charge. Buck stomped around the lawn furniture in tighter circles. He snapped viciously at the potted herbs around our feet, pausing between attacks to evaluate the level of response.
Just before leaving, Buck demonstrated one of my favorite tricks. Being hand fed. One peck to see if it's edible, if yes, a second peck at the hand holding the treat to engage the "drop - the - food" reflex.
Buck loves donuts. He's a good cop.
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