Page 3 of A Fowl Match

“Get the hell up, the day started thirty minutes ago. The goat’s need milking, fed, and fresh water. If you want this responsibility, you better start showing some initiative.” My grandpa says.

“Yes sir,” I yawn.

“Five minutes. I’m giving you that long and nothing more. I’ll be waiting outside in the side-by-side.”

“Okay.” I manage to say.

How did I end up in this predicament?

I grab a pair of jeans and t-shirt, shrugging them on. A flashback runs through my mind from five days ago, reminding me of how I ended up here.

“Hello?—Hello?—Dustin—it’s good to hear—voice. How are you?—been a long time—I’ve heard from you.” My grandpa’s voice escapes the phone between each break of static. The cut in service makes it hard to decipher what he’s conveying, especially at this hour.

“Umm—you know it’s six a.m. on a Sunday, right Grandpa? Could we talk later when I’m awake? And alive?” I sandwich my head under a pillow to block out the blinding rays.

“It’s six a.m. like I always say—”

“If you aren’t up before the roosters crow you aren’t up early enough.”

“Exactly, I heard them crowing hours ago.”

“You don’t even have any chickens.”

“That doesn’t matter, you get my point.”

“Yes, Sir.” My voice comes out muffled from underneath the pillow.

“Anyways, this can’t wait. We’ve waited long enough for you to take some responsibility. The farm needs your help. I need your help.” His voice cracks on the I.

I open the front door and hop into the seat. He reverses and drives towards the goat’s barn. We’re silent for a few minutes, nothing but the rumble of the engine and gravel under the tires.

“Will you let me put a booster on your roof? My phone barely works out here.”

He lets out a dry laugh, “Absolutely not. The day you put that high tech equipment in my home is the day I die.”

I sigh. My hands are tied. I change the subject. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Well, first off there’s no agendas out here. You’re not working in the office anymore.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” It’s still raw. The reminder of being laid off doesn’t sit well in my empty stomach.

He continues as we pull in front of the goat barn, “we’ll take care of the goats. There is a lot of things you need to learn. Since we didn’t have them when you were younger. Then off to mucking the cow barn. But, you’ve got that handled on your own. You’ve done that plenty of times before.”

“Yeah, I’m good with that.” There goes my brand new clothes I bought yesterday. I rub my head at the reminder. It still stings a little where I got hit on the head.

“And then we’ll check the fences. I’m sure there are a few spots that need to be re-strung. Those nasty windstorms did some damage. It won’t get done all in one day. But you can get a head start.”

“Anything else?”

“Plenty, but we don’t have enough time in the day to sit here and talk. Let’s get to work.”

After a few grueling hours of milking goats and feeding. Filling water troughs, laying down fresh hay. My grandfather dropped me off in front of the cattle barn.

The grueling part had nothing to do with milking or goats. No, it had to do with my grandfather's agitation withme.I can sense some hostility that can only be rebuilt through time. Lots of time.

I shovel cow manure into the spreader on the back of the tractor using the skid steer. With each scoop my nose stings with the smell. I’m not used to it, after not being here for years. I’vegotten acclimated to the odor of garbage, car exhausts, and a variety of fumes. Some pleasant, others not so much. The same can be said for life on the farm.

Once the spreader is full, I drive it across the field. I shift the tractor into a higher gear, it grinds with each movement. Shooting manure all over the new growth. I repeat this process multiple times until the section of field is covered, and I can see the concrete floor of the barn. I shovel the rest of the concrete where I couldn’t get the skid steer. I hose the floor down and scrub it clean. Hours later I wipe my brow, entirely exhausted after a full day of manual labor. Being a farmer is no easy feat. As I stand here and look at what I’ve accomplished, I feel pride in my chest. After sitting at a desk for years as an accountant, the change of pace feels refreshing.

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