I’ve decided to start of the new year with a whole host of resolutions. One being that I am going to start keeping my animals in pens. Granted, I can coax just about any animal to remain in a particular area with certain edible bribes, but I want pens that will hold the animals indefinitely. So exactly six days ago, I completed the chicken pen. It has only taken me nine months to do it, which seems like an appropriate amount of time considering that’s about the same amount of time it took me to deliver on the inevitable delivery of all three of my children.
The project was long overdue.
I decided to begin to finish the partially completed pen at precisely the moment my husband would return from fishing with said children. It was a perfectly planned and executed operation scheduled for one of the most beautiful January days I could ever remember. Before heading out to deliver on my word to eventually finish the pen I had started, I tucked dinner in a roasting pan and nestled it in the oven at 350 to incubate for exactly 2 hours. I gathered up the t-post driver, fencing pliers, chicken wire, t-posts and fencing wire. During the laborious process of beating the t-posts into the soil, my husband’s beefy biceps happened by to relieve my paltry biceps of their misery. Thirty minutes later, the chicken pen was not only complete, it was finished.
We decided we made such a good team that we would tackle the project of unearthing the old corral that had been nearly overtaken by trees and blackberry bushes. This project also included the removal of several stretches of old barbed wire fencing. We decided to bribe our three little Indians to help us out.
That is, until they look around and discover that the ground they are walking on is made of dirt. Which is obviously perfect for dirt fights.
Then they aren’t so concerned with bribes.
Once the brush had been cleared and the last stretch of wire had been loosened from the posts, I informed my husband that I was going to head back to the house to fry some chicken and bake a chocolate cake.
Turns out, this statement alone not only ends dirt wars, but I’m pretty sure it can end world wars. And it’s certainly better than any monetary bribe.
As I made my way toward the car, my three children clamoring over one another, racing toward the vehicle which would transport their empty bellies to the nearest filling station, I hear my husband in the distance….
“Aren’t you boys going to stay and help me finish up this last fence row?”
But it was no use.
I had already promised cake.