EDITORIAL Not Even a Fish

My husband and I recently spent the weekend with four of our grandchildren. This family of six live on an acreage full of nonhumans, as well. Many are even inside the house.

Anyone who knows me is aware that I am crazy for animals and love the outdoors more than life itself. NOT!

Chickens are, as with most baby animals, really cute when they’re born. In a few weeks, however, they are not quite so attractive and they are a noisy bunch. The basement in this home currently houses these only-a-few-weeksold squawkers because, as my daughter said, “They may have hatched a little early, for the weather.”

There are other animals around and inside this homestead, also. They have very noisy roosters, ducks, cats and large dogs. Of course, pretty much every time the door opens, the cats run into the house, no doubt thinking chickens would be fun play things. As much as the cats want in, the two dogs want out, with their number one goal being — to run away. As nice as that may have sounded to me, we insisted they be tied up because just the evening before our arrival they’d both been to the vet for removal of quills from a pissed off porcupine.

Last year those same dogs had more than one bout with skunks so our added goal was to keep them stink-free.

This family lives in a work-in-progress older home which has been in-progress for the past several years. Imagining what the second story loft will look like someday is

PATTIE JANZEN Laugh at Life... Revisited

really fun. Sleeping up there, before the facelift, is a different story. “Honey! Did you hear that?” came out of my alarmed mouth more than a few times that first night. Hardly able to hear myself the next, I asked, “Is there an actual bird inside this ceiling?” That’s not a stretch because, not long ago, our eldest grandson stabbed a shrew that was running around behind the plastic that covers the ceiling. He proudly did away with it when he was testing out his newly acquired Katana sword. Just a bit of blood spatter is left, to remind us all of the kill.

Speaking of swords — I went outside to check out the roosters (who crow incessantly, all day) and I glanced my fifteen and ten year old grandsons fighting with real ones. I don’t know if I’d simply given up at that point, or didn’t see the possible danger with this sort of activity. I knew, however, that I’d loosened up considerably since raising my own kids, when I yelled, “Just don’t lob off a finger!”

They assured me, immediately, that swords have hand guards. I then remembered that I carry a first aide kit in the back of my car so I told them to carry on but, of course, to be careful. Yes, I realize as I write this — that made no sense — but a trip to the very distant ER wasn’t warranted, so it’s a win!

Although I may not be an animal lover, if a person decides that it’s a necessary responsibility, I do believe they should be cared for well. I don’t know how many times my husband or I asked these questions: “Has so-and-so been fed?” (Of course every animal has been named.) “Do they all have water?” “Has anyone collected the eggs today?” (There’s a coop outside too!) And to two of our grandsons: “Weren’t there six chickens in the basement? You sleep down there — don’t you do a head count every now and then?”

Yes — good times were had by all!

The crowning moment, however, occurred mere hours before we left to return to our quiet, poop and straw-free home.

One grandson went to rotate the many eggs in the incubator (housed in their dining room) and — you guessed it! A new chick had hatched!

When raising our own children, I feel I did more than my share of compromising in the animal tolerance department. As wonderful as new life is, I must admit, I’m thankful that I don’t even own a fish. (This and more at: pdjanzen.com)