Last week, I wrote about leaving hunting gear behind, my incompetence manifested itself in a new way this week on Friday. I locked myself inside the chicken run.
Elaine and I split the duties regarding taking care of our chickens. Usually, for example, it is my job to let our flock out of their henhouse in the morning, while she puts them to bed at night. Friday evening Elaine was grilling venison burgers for dinner, so I volunteered to make sure that Ruby, Little Spotty Hen, Tallulah, and Dot were locked inside their house safely.
I accomplished that task satisfactorily. But when I pushed on the chicken run door, it would not give. After some struggling against the door, I belatedly decided to check on the lock. Somehow the hook had fallen into the eye and "locked itself," leaving me trapped inside. I began yelling for Elaine to come let me out, but I could hear the oven grill exhaust and she clearly could not detect my cries.
Our daughter Sarah, her husband David, and son Sam live across the hollow from us, but that is a good 125 yards away from us and its wintertime, so no windows are open. Luckily, a neighbor across the road was outside and heard my pleas, so she called out if I needed help. Too embarrassed to yell back what had happened, I merely shouted for her to call Elaine and ask her to come outside.
Predictably, Elaine laughed and teased me about my plight, and even went so far as to suggest that our hens probably wouldn't mind if I spent the night in the chicken abode. I also think she took a little longer than necessary to unlock the gate. One of the reasons I love her so much is that she constantly teases me about my shortcomings, a number of which have been showing themselves lately.
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