Farmer H went to the auction this afternoon. That is not a good thing. On Sunday afternoons, Farmer H turns into Collector H. I really think he has a sickness. He can't help himself. He can never have enough animals. What started with three chickens has now turned into a hillbilly petting zoo.
Just today, Collector H bought 10 chickens, six of them roosters, a giant tom turkey, and a whopping gray buck rabbit. That's to replace the soft, spotted bunny, Spot, who tunneled out of his Farmer H defective rabbit pen with a dirt floor and was last weekend eaten by the bloodthirsty canines that call the Mansion home. Father of the Year H has not yet broken that news to The Pony. The Pony thinks Spot is still roughing it over around the BARn area.
I don't know why we have to have so many roosters. This makes AT LEAST 15 roosters. The handful of hens we have are going to drop dead. Roosters are not good for anything. They fight and they crow and they chase the hens. And they EAT. I would sooner pour my money down a lottery hole that feed these useless, stinking, feathered friends of Collector H. Nothing I say seems to phase him. I don't know how to get him help for his mental illness. Yesterday, he was saying how The Pony told him we needed some sheep. I don't think so. Collector H said they had a llama and a sheep and a prairie dog for sale at the auction.
I must find a way to stop him before he buys again.
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2 comments:
Fifteen roosters? Wow. My mom would have killed them off one by one and served them for dinner. I guess you all know when the sun is up!
Kathy,
Once the first rooster crows, it is a cacophony until sunset. I refuse to let Iron Chef H cook some roosters. That was his plan. But I will not allow The Pony's heart to be broken.
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