Farm life is NEVER dull

If you've been around here for very long, you've probably heard me say, "Farm life is never dull." I wish I could tell you I'm exaggerating... but I promise I'm not.

Case in point...

Last night we were doing our usual evening chores, getting everybody tucked in for the night. Chickens, ducks, goats—everyone was accounted for.

Except the turkey.

Bernie Turkey has never once claimed to make good decisions, so we started looking around the barnyard. We checked the coop, walked the fence line, and called for him. Nothing.

Finally, I happened to look up.

There sat Bernie. On the roof of our house. Not the barn. Not the chicken coop. The actual house. Just sitting up there like he was inspecting the shingles before renewing our homeowner's insurance.

So naturally, out came the ladder. The Hubs climbed up, rescued His Royal Featherness, carried him down, tucked him safely into the coop, and we called it a night. Problem solved.

Or so we thought.

Now, I forgot to take my sleep medicine, which meant I spent the entire night tossing and turning. Every time I looked at the clock it was another hour later, and I just knew today was going to be a long one.

Around 4:15 this morning, The Hubs got up like he always does. I honestly don't know what kind of person voluntarily wakes up that early to work out or run ten miles, but apparently I married one. I heard him head outside.

A few seconds later, I heard the door open again. I figured he'd forgotten his keys or his water bottle or something.

Instead, I hear him say, “I think the cat ran in.”

Simple enough.

Except it wasn’t the cat.

It was an opossum. A full-blown opossum.

That little rascal marched right into my living room like he paid the electric bill, took one look around, and dove straight under the couch. Well, now nobody's going anywhere.

The Hubs is trying to figure out how to get him out, and I'm standing there half asleep, still trying to process the fact that I apparently have a surprise houseguest. We lifted up the recliner part of the couch so I could peek underneath to see where he was.

Found him.

Unfortunately, he found me too.

That opossum shot out from under that couch like he'd been fired out of a potato cannon. And where did he run? Right at me.

Now, in my defense, I just happened to be standing in front of the open door, which is exactly where he wanted to go. But in that split second, my brain wasn't thinking, "He's trying to escape." My brain was thinking, "Well... this is how it ends."

I screamed. Not one of those cute little movie screams either. I'm talking about the kind of scream that probably woke up every chicken, turkey, goat, duck, and neighbor within a five-mile radius.

The opossum ran outside.  My heart rate eventually returned to normal.

And after all of that, I did the only reasonable thing left to do.

I made coffee.

Because if there's one thing I've learned from living on a farm, it's this: the chores will never be done, the animals will always find a new way to surprise you, and sometimes wildlife just lets itself in before sunrise.

Farm life may not always be peaceful, but I'll never be able to say it's boring.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish my coffee and see what today's adventure has planned.

Although, I'm a little afraid to find out!

P.S. Every single bit of this story is 100% true. No names have been changed to protect the guilty... because Bernie knows exactly what he did, and I'm pretty sure that opossum has no regrets either. 😂☕