Things that are in places where they shouldn't be

The other morning I stepped outside - and found a deer head on my front stoop. Attached to it wasn't the body of a deer, but our dog Tom Snow, happily chewing on the deer's face.

I should have been more surprised, but I really wasn't. It's hunting season, and I assume that one of the hunters in the neighbourhood cleaned his dead deer and flung the head over the fence, where Tom Snow found it and brought it home, like the good gatherer he is (he's not a hunter, the sweet boy). 

Gives the expression "Don't lose your head" a whole new meaning, doesn't it?

The dogs took turns chewing on the head, but eventually we took it away from them. Raw deer makes for terrible farts.

Finding a deer head in front of my house made me think of all the weird things I have found in places where you'd least expect it.

I always hear from my friends with kids that kids are crazy inventive when it comes to putting stuff where it doesn't belong. An entire toilet paper roll stuffed into the toilet, lipstick in their face, marker on the walls, peas in their nose, batteries in their stomachs - that's all just a normal morning in a kid's life.

I don't have kids at home, but I have a husband and animals, and seriously, that might be worse.

Let's start with things I have found in my husband's coat pockets:

• Eggs. There are several reasons why he puts eggs in his pockets: To put them in the incubator; to bring them into the house to eat; to collect them for someone else. (Egg trading is one of the weird habits bird people have.) The reason why I find them in his pocket is because he's old and forgetful. 
• Dead chicks. Part of living on a farm is having to deal with dead animals. The circle of life is much more evident with animals around, and as Rich is fond of saying: "Where there's livestock, there's deadstock." He puts small dead animals into his pocket with the intention of disposing of them, but then he forgets and I have the pleasure of doing so. Being a farmwife is so glorious, isn't it. 
• .22 bullets. Those little rifle bullets are everywhere: not only in his pockets, but also in his wallet, in the middle console of his truck, and in the couch. Where you find change in normal people's houses, you'll find small gold bullets in ours. 

A chicken in the dog house. One of our chickens has moved into Nina's dog house. She's in there all day and night. The dog house is right next to our front door, and since the chicken is one of the popular kids, there's a gang of her buddies hanging out in front of our house now all day. Even though it comes with its small set of problems (read: chicken shit), it's so adorable that I let them.

We've also had the odd chicken in our house: Remember the time when Norma got lost and wandered around in our living room?

Hay everywhere. One of the more questionable joys of living on a farm is dirt. I'm amazingly tolerant when it comes to sand and dust (I'm still so damn happy that the endless mud of our old place has been replaced by dust), but having hay everywhere gets old fast. Have you ever had hay in your bra? If not, let me tell you, it's itchy as hell. I also manage to get it stuck in my hair every day (which has the side effect of having to suffer through every "roll in the hay"-joke known to man), and it falls into my boots, which means it gets stuck to your socks, which means it's all over the damn house.

Dogs all over the place. The corgi on the table, Tom Snow on the bed, Barney in the car - finding dogs in unusual places is my favourite thing in the world. We have come a long way from a formerly dog-free house - and I wouldn't want it any other way 💜 

xoxo Miriam

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