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Best Of 2020: Life On The Chapsy Farm: Part 1

The smell of biscuits and sausage gravy filled the air that was marked with the briskness of early Spring. The windows were open and when I hopped out of bed, a gust pushed through the screens and swam gently underneath my testicles. The chill was more caffeine than the glass of coffee that greeted me on the dinner table as I walked into the dining room. 

"Good morning, my love," I said to my wife as she sat down a casserole-style dish in the middle of our farm-style table. In reality, we live on a farm so everything here is farm style. "Why the full breakfast this morning?" 

"Well, my dear. It's because we have a full days' work ahead of us."

She was right. Springtime on the farm isn't easy for anyone here. We finished up breakfast while laughing about some memes on Facebook. We love Facebook. It's great. Our friends from high school are on there and they post the funniest things. Recently, some of our younger friends on there have started posting pictures of this tiny baby Yoda looking thing. It's hilarious. I have no idea where they got it from. They'll type words across Baby Yoda's face and say things like, "My feeling when the NCAA tournament gets canceled" and Baby Yoda will look sad. It's hilarious. 

Anyway, we were going through some of our favorite memes of the morning and filling our bellies with delicious biscuits. I guess it's a surprise cheat day because biscuits certainly aren't low-carb lol. That's ok. The thing about dieting is that you can't be too strict with it all the time. You'll fall off the wagon quickly if you do that. I take one last bite of my delicious breakfast, pinch my wife on the ass cheek, and she screams out, "HONEY!" Cracking up to the point where I almost vomit all that gravy up, I say, "what, you sexy little minx? It's St. Paddy's Day and you aren't wearing green." 

"Oh, you," she says while I put on my cowboy hat and head out the door with a piece of hay in my mouth. Where did I get the hay? Hey, that's none of your damned business. With a piece of hay in my mouth, I say, "Good morning, Charles," as Charles gets out of his truck. 

"What? Cant understand you with that hay in your mouth."

I spit it out. Embarrassed. "Sorry about that, Charles. How are you this morning? You get a good breakfast in?" 

"No. I keep telling you I'm trying intermittent fasting because I gained too much weight over the last couple of years."

Charles is right. He's fat as fuck but I still like giving him biscuits. "Well, then I guess you won't want this."

I pull a biscuit from my pocket and show it to him. The fat fuck takes the biscuit and gobbles it up. Can you believe that? I can. No damn willpower. Hate to see it. 

While still swallowing some biscuit,  Charles and I head out down the gravel-rich dirt road that stretches all across my property. The property is marked by three barns. Two of those barns are painted classic red. Their roofs are tin and beginning to show signs of wear. The other barn is more of a garage. It's constructed by cinder blocks and is crude compared to the rest of the farm. It's certainly nicer than anything my neighbor Rick has, though. Rick's farm is a fucking disgrace.

Anyway, the only thing that goes in there is my CrossFit equipment. No one goes in there anymore. The space is basically a big fucking waste. I've been asking Charles to list all the equipment on Craigslist for weeks but he's lazy as hell and requires constant supervision. I think he's not actively trying to sell it because he'd have to help the buyer load up all those kettlebells. There are 80 kettlebells in that barn because I used to teach a class to local farmers. After the sun would go down, we'd all get together and do a workout of the day.  We called it the Work Out Of The Day or WOD for short. It was nice. Everyone loved the class until Charles' wife had a heart attack and died in one of the sessions. After that, people stopped coming and Charles started eating to ease the pain. It was terrible to watch in real-time. 

Charles and I begin to make our way through the daily checklist. Like always, the first chore of the day is to walk in and check on the goats. It's springtime so, the goat family has grown. Walking through the door of the barn, I see 11 baby goats running and playing on their new piles of hay. I pick up a piece of that hay and stick it in my mouth. I take it out immediately. Goat piss. I dont say anything to Charles about it because that would embarrass me. As the boss farmer, I should know better than sticking hay from a goat pen in my mouth. "Clean it the fuck up" I say in my own brain.

Like usual, Charles gets straight to work. He is mixing up banana-flavored Muscle Milk for the baby goats. In my years of experience on the farm, I have learned that baby goats love muscle milk. It makes them a little more gassy but, let's be honest, you don't start a farm because you want the place to smell like a Yankee Candle Store. The smell is not a concern and these baby goats are growing at a rate the likes we have never seen. 

With a bottle in my hand, I sit down criss-cross applesauce and wait for a baby goat to climb into my lap. The wait isn't long because wouldn't you know it, here comes one and he delivers the cutest little baaaahhh you've ever heard. I hope that onomatopoeia shined through so you could get the feeling in your own eardrums. That would be fantastic. The literary device of onomatopoeia is invaluable in farm stories and I hope to use more if it worked. If not, I'll refrain. 

Anyway, this baby goat was sucking down his banana-flavored muscle milk so quickly. I laughed a little and said, "whoooaaa, buddy boy. Slow it down some. You're gonna be a big boy in no time."

The next 10 minutes are always my favorite moments of the day on the farm. Holding and cuddling a baby goat while they get their favorite nutrient is as fulfilling as it gets. Nearing the end of this bottle, the baby goat in my arm gently falls asleep with a full belly that is releasing a stinky stream of air. Adorable. I roll the baby goat on his side and that's when I see my mistake. This baby goat has nipples. It must be a female. Gutted at my mistake, I begin to weep. 

What happens next? I'm too upset right now to say so you'll have to wait for part 2.