Please enjoy this excerpt from My Year In A Yurt.
I am an animal lover—by nature and by rearing. At three years of age, my mom gave me a gorgeous calico kitten. Of course, we named her Callie. A few years later, Callie proudly presented us with a litter of three adorable kittens. We kept the tiny orange tabby and named him Pooh. By the time I completed the summer of my ninth year, I had painstakingly earned fifty dollars by baking and selling cookies door-to-door while peddling my bike up and down the hills of our rural neighborhood. (It was actually safe to do that forty-six years ago!)
What man among you, if he has a hundred sheep and has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open pasture and go after the one which is lost until he finds it? Luke 15:4
My parents matched my profits and Folly, a twenty-six-year old nag, I mean mare, miraculously arrived on our property. This good-natured equine allowed a green equestrian to creep all over her, practice newly acquired grooming skills sanctioned by our local 4-H Club, and ride her along the same cookie business route. Later, two show horses and one Nubian goat were added to the eclectic mix, along with two Bassett hounds—Beau and Boomerang. (Throckmorten, another lumbering Bassett, lived down the road. Can you imagine naming a dog Throckmorten?) Somewhere between nine and sixteen years of age, we cared for a Opossum named Ophelia, who had fallen into our pool, three rabbits that multiplied at a frightening pace, plus a variety of birds and reptiles. It was great! (I don’t think my dad would agree.) After moving to the yurt, Pat and I were of the same mind to reproduce the little flock of chickens we had enjoyed while living in Big Bear. (No, those chickens were long gone prior to our move to Hawaii.) Chickens are cheap entertainment, and the eggs are considered a financial and healthful bonus. One day, as I was heading toward the yurt after a quick ride on Smoke, my eyes caught movement on the gravel path up ahead. As I focused, I saw that it was a tiny chick scrambling to and fro. Wow! We can start our flock for free with this little one! With a bit of effort, I was able to carefully capture the creature in my hands. Just as I was beginning to inspect her, my peripheral vision caught another motion to the left, as simultaneously, my ears heard the wild flapping of wings—large wings—and an unusual squawking sound that registered “danger” throughout my entire body. I quickly looked over my shoulder only to find an enormous wild turkey flying at me like Tom Cruise in his Top Gun fighter jet! Holy you-know-what! No time to think. I gently threw the fledgling into a patch of nearby grass and ran for my life! Thankfully, Momma was only interested in ushering her one lost peeper back into the fold. And I was happy to let her do just that! Whew … that was a close call! On a side note, multi-award winning singer/song writer, Paul Overstreet, wrote a catchy and truthful tune entitled, “If Momma Ain’t Happy, Nobody’s Happy!” That Turkey Momma was going to get her chick back, or else. This Momma was more than happy to oblige!
