We had big fun one night last week.
I had gotten out of the shower around 11 p.m. and my wife, Jenifer, was already in bed when I heard cows bellowing close by.
I shined my flashlight out the front door to see what was going on and there were 30 cows and calves outside, free-ranging at night and tromping through the garden.
I would like to believe that I told Jenifer, “Golly jeez, dear, Father's cattle are in the garden,” but what I actually uttered was a little more graphic.
We finally got the cows back in the pasture around midnight with not too much damage to the garden.
My dad had installed a drive-through electric gate to prevent this from happening, but he was hauling bales of hay to his hay barn and we had tied the gate open for one day and night.
It just happened to be the night the cows figured out how to unhook the gate and go grazing.
Jenifer finally named our carport-dwelling, cat-food-eating chicken CC – “Crazy Chicken.”
She came in the house Sunday night, and the next thing we noticed was our son, Levi, filling up a food and water bowl. He and his sister, Ellie, had the chicken upstairs in Levi's room.
After repeated NO's, the chicken spent the night roosting on a milk craft in Levi's room with newspapers spread across the floor.