Farm livin'

We spent the last few days in the country at what we affectionately call "the farm". In the family for close to 90 years, it's no longer a working farm, but 26 acres of pasture surrounded by towering, gnarled oak trees. There are no farm animals, unless you count a skittish dog, a fat, lazy cat, snakes, turtles, a few coyotes, a myriad of rodents and an armadillo that lives under the deck. The kids spend their days exploring, playing in the treehouse and in the summertime fishing, swimming in the pond (which I wouldn't swim in if you paid me) and riding in the paddle boat. It's a kid's paradise.

On this particular trip, Emma and Greyson decided they wanted to keep one of the rodents as a pet. Annie (otherwise known as the skittish dog) had been collecting the things all week and depositing them on the patio, usually minus a head and an appendage or two. Apparently the kids were able to grab one before she dismembered it. Hearing your oldest yell, "Mom, Emma's holding a rodent!" is not something I would put on my list of "Oh fun, let's do that again!" Oh my! Apparently they were both holding it until, in a last ditch effort to escape, the little thing scratched Greyson and was promptly dropped on its head. I can hear the moms gasping now. Yes, I was gasping too. Rodents...germs...rabies...

No worries. He is fine and they now know not to play with wild animals. Poor kids. If only their dad would let them have a dog.