A couple weeks ago, I took Alma to The Farm Show. The Farm Show is pretty much what it sounds like. I think it was originally started so farmers could find out about the newest ground-digging-planting-corn thing and the best parsnip seed. Now, its just an excuse to make your children look at animals and drink milk shakes.
The grandparents came along. My father was so excited that I was bringing Alma to this time honored tradition that he went a few days ahead and scoped things out. He had a plan about what Alma should see first- the rabbits- and where we should eat and on and on. It was great. The above picture was taken when Dad was showing Alma a rooster. Immediately after I took this picture, the rooster crowed. There was a golden moment of silence and awe. And then the screaming crying started. The girl does not like crowing. Roosters are fine in her book as long as they keep their mouth shut. My dad felt really bad, but there was no reason too. I would have showed the girl the rooster too. But, I kind of wanted to cry with her. We had a rooster growing up that I called "shorty". That was a mean feathered rooster. Bad memories.
Nephew Pants came along too. He liked the milk shake. But, when asked about the farm show later it was not the milk shake he remembered. It was the poop! Actually, the PewwwwP as he says it. What did you see at the farm show? "cows PewwwwP". Did you see horses? "horses PewwwwP". What did you eat? "cows PewwwwP".
It was a great day.
No comments:
Post a Comment