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Morgan hates the goose. HATES HIM. No good reason. She thinks he’s scary, but he’s NOT, I swear! I only have the one American Blue male goose. I had three other geese, but they were killed by raccoons before I moved from Stringtown Rising. I had reserved some American Blues for this spring, but the reservation fell through when they didn’t have enough to fill orders. I really really wanted more American Blues, which are hard to find, because they are such nice geese…. I’m not sure what I’m going to do now, but I need more geese. Apparently…..
Conversation with Morgan yesterday afternoon–
Me: “Morgan, I have to tell you something about the goose.” Because, like, I had to tell someone.
Morgan: “He’s dead?” (Certain light of anticipation in her eyes.)
Me: “No! He just….did something.”
Morgan: :::long pause::: “HE RAPED A CHICKEN!”
Farm children, they grow up so early.
Me: “YES!!!!!!!!”
Morgan: “I TOLD YOU HE WAS EVIL.”
Me: “He’s just lonely….”
Really. He had sex with a chicken. And I watched it. I don’t know who is a bigger pervert, me or the goose!
A farm, it is so disturbing to the human mind at times…. AND WHO KNOWS WHAT DUMPLIN HAS SEEN.
Posted by Suzanne McMinn | Permalink
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"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....
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