And not only that–I wish I knew what to do with it. Self-sufficiency sounds grand. Especially in today's world. I'd love to be able to look into my backyard and realize that if everything else goes kerblooey, at least my family would have milk. And eggs. And eventually filet mignon and chicken scaloppini.
There's that hitch, though. Where's the faucet to turn on the milk? And how do I tell the hen that I need six eggs today? Also, what would they live in? I've got an old dog house I could convert into a hen house. (The fact that it's an old dog house and there's no dog currently living in it might hint at my fabu animal husbandry skills, but we'll ignore that for the time being. Oh, there's a story in that dog house. A big fat one. But, I'm still recovering emotionally from the dork-dog, so we'll wait.)
But the cow? I don't have an old reallybiganimal house I could convert into a cow house. And what would I do when they need, like, grooming, or they get sick, or need their teeth brushed, or their second stomach massaged, or their little chicken eyebrows plucked. Not to mention all that fertilizer. Where am I going to put that stuff? And I don't think a pooper-scooper that size is going to fit in my backyard. Which, by the way, is the size of my kitchen, so I'd have to come up with a chicken/cow condo for my critters because nothing else would fit.
I'm kind of thinking this might not be a good idea. If it came down to it and we were starving I would probably never be able to eat my self-sufficiency animals. I can't eat something I've named and knitted booties and warming blankets for. I might not have been cut out to own animals.
I wonder what it would take to raise a flock of spam . . .
(This is me, contemplating the flock of spam. As well as the lazy dude standing there leaning on a staff while I do all the dirty work. Even the dog can't believe what a lame-o he is.)
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