The donkeys were a big draw, for sure. The goats and the huge Scottish Highland Cattle weren’t too shabby either, but nothing could compare to the chickens.
We took Will to Taylor-Bray Farm in Yarmouthport over the weekend. It’s a small place with free admission, but they have some animals and it’s a nice open space where kids can run around. We’ve been there with Will before about a year ago, and you can read the account of that trip here if you want. But let’s just say it didn’t go so well. Fucking goats. I made sure I steered clear of them this time.
So anyway, Will seemed to forget all about his past troubles and was not shy about going right up to the animals. I was excited to see the donkeys. There were two of them, they were friendly and let’s face it, donkeys are amusing. And they made quite the “HEE-HAWWWWW!” racket while we there, much to everyone’s delight. I also liked the fact that the one ram on the farm has to be penned in solitary confinement because he’s so sexually aggressive. Seriously, they told us he’ll do anything to get laid, including kicking the crap out of the baby lambs. He even mounts the old sheep who can’t get pregnant anymore. I guess the caveman inside of me is mildly impressed with an animal whose sexual potency and prowess is so pronounced that no other animals can even go near him.
But I digress.
Will was not impressed by any of this. The only animals he cared about were the chickens, which was slightly depressing for me because chickens are boring and I find them weird. But he loved them, so I dutifully stood by him while he ooohed and ahhhed.
I will give him some credit, the farm has a vast majority of different kinds of chickens. I don’t know their exact species, but some had feathered feet while others had weird poofs of feathers on each side of their head. I didn’t like those ones. They struck me as snotty and elitist. But the main attraction in the chicken coop was definitely the rooster, who lived up to being the cock of the walk by pecking and bullying all the other chickens around him on a non-stop basis. It was wild. This rooster would come out into the pen and the rest of them would just scatter. None of them wanted any part of him.
Will seemed especially intrigued with him, and as he focused on the rooster it seemed to know he was being talked about because he made his way over. Will began saying “Hi Chicken!” and was waving at him. I crouched down to his level, grabbing onto the chain link fence for support with my left hand. Then I said “Will, what does the chicken say?”
And then that rooster motherfucker pecked at viciously mauled and nearly severed my finger!!
I jumped around, shaking my hand trying not to swear up a storm. I nursed my finger and just kept saying “Ow Ow Ow Ow!” over and over again, while dreaming of a Purdue oven stuffer roaster type of revenge. Will just laughed at me, and so did MJ.
What a supportive family I have.
The next day, we were reading one of Will’s favorite books which consists of a list of animals. We point to an animal, he names it and then makes the corresponding sound. We did horse. We did dog. We did sheep. And then…I pointed to the picture of a chicken.
And instead of the ultra-cute chicken noise he usually makes — which comes complete with him jutting his elbows out and making a flapping gesture with his arms — he surprised us by incorporating something else into his repertoire.
He looked at me, grinned, and then started jumping up and down while shaking his hand and shouting “Ow Ow Ow, finger hurt, finger hurt!”