Recently, all the professional farmers in the family were either on vacation or off at a pig show (I count my seven year-old son as one of the professionals). By a crazy twist of fate, I was the only person left to be officially in charge of the farm for the day.
So I did what any hardcore farm wife would do when left in charge of the farm--I went shopping. Luckily for me, Husband had retained the services of a real farmer to help with the feeding. My only real job was to make sure that everything was still here when the real farmer came to feed.
After my shopping trip I took the inventory:
Road-kill munching farm dog with adorable patch on her eye. Check.
Tractor. Check. Hay bales. Check.
This thing. Check.
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