We have salmon in these rivers, songbirds in these trees.  The cows birth their babies in the pasture outside our window.  I wash mold off the walls, poop off the diapers. I say it now, and might regret it later, but I’d rather sweep up dog hair than these cracker crumbs on the floor.  Our landlords don’t want us to have chickens, so I hesitate.  But mostly it’s the fox down the hill that determines whether we have chickens or not.  Sneaky little fucker.  A house of three boys and four cats.  This blog is a story for the youngest of us all… Sam.

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