The Farm Journal

I think it might be best if you treat me like you would a wild but curious animal. Like a deer for instance. A fucking smart deer who doesn't leave footprints the size of loose change but instead a size 7.5.

If you want to pet a deer, you don't run up to it clashing trash can lids. You stare and let her sniff you out, making sure you don't smell like any crazy intentions or fear. I have done this with the deer in the yard. This is good with bees too.

I think about this after a fumbling conversation with my Dad over our lack of hay. People can't find any hay.
He has been hemming and hawing over this for a month or two, and now I am getting nervous. We don't have any hay for the horses, and Father says; "We might have to shoot them."

My eyes got big and I wanted to bolt the yard. My ears went back...but instead of running up into the poplar trees beyond the yard, I raised up on my hind legs and made noise. I just can not imagine Mr. Shealy killing our horses a few months after his wife died. Our mother died. It is too much death. It isn't fair, and I want my piece of the pie.

A little something pretty.