I do not have a pair of shoes that do not smell of poultry manure. Except for the one pair of sandals I keep at the office – specifically to keep clean. I was doing pretty good over the winter when the snow, and then our muddy spring, created a need for boots. Now that the ground is dry and the weather is warm, my boots have been relegated to the closet. Though I must point out that I own sandals and sneakers that I keep around for gardening and other dirty tasks. I’m just not good at paying attention. Heck – even my bedroom slippers are poultrified. I wear them when I run out to the coop first thing in the morning, and when I put the ducks in around dark. That wouldn’t be much of a problem if I’t just stay out of the coop – but nooooo – I go in to collect the eggs, fill their feeder, check the waterer, and the next thing I know my shoes have picked up a little something extra.
My porch is a bit like that too. I gave good advice to a client – Do NOT feed your flock off the porch. I did not follow my own advice. The turkeys are the worst because they spent several weeks in my bedroom. As lovely as it is to be greeted by a flock of gangly birds running to meet you when you get home from work – having them wait for you on the porch, roosting on your rocking chair, is less than lovely – though profoundly humorous. One night I went to go out and there they were, roosting on the back of the chair, staring in through the screen door.
The turkeys are like kids.
They want to be wherever we are.
Which translates to underfoot.