There were toads out tonight, I saw three. I picked up the biggest one and moved him across the field, that might’ve been where they were headed. 

There were lightning bugs too, loads of them, thousands. They stuck mostly to the pasture, but a few ranged into the lawn. They seemed to stay away from my flashlight, so I turned it off. 

I used the flashlight to stun the chickens. We have seven new ones, they’ve lived most of their lives in the garage, but it’s time to join the gang. Mr. Darcy doesn’t recognize them, and he’s been a mean bastard to these little birds. I thought I might need to play sheriff in their little corner of my place, and I did. I went out once it was dark and six of the birds were huddled up by the door, outside, not allowed in. The seventh was sandwiched behind the dog crate they’ve been staying in to acclimatize. 

I stunned them with the flashlight and grabbed them one at a time and put them in the crate. I gave them fresh water and they drank. I took Darcy’s comb gently between two fingers and I told him to be nicer, I don’t think he’ll change, but he might get used to their smell after another few days.

Chickens are chickens, and dogs are dogs, and men are men. I think the foundational word of my worldview might be respect. Respect for things as they art. Treat chickens like chickens, dogs as dogs, men as men, and do it all as a human being. Some times you’ve got to seperate the chickens, but you can ask them to be kind as well. It might not work, but you can try. 

Much of the parenting I observe and disagree with comes from a place lacking in respect. We concieve of children as their class: children. We oscillate between granting them grace for that classification, and complaining about it. 

Roby is not a failed adult who cannot speak and cries all the time. She is a full and perfect person who navigates the world the best she can with limited tools and 8 moon-turns of understanding. She’s doing pretty well, I think.