Dear Dairy,

We just had the most confusing weekend everrrrrrr.

I know I haven’t written for awhile but I’ve been super busy with my new job. AKA chief chicken checker at Glen Oaks Farm. Well, Dad does a lot of the main work, but I keep an eye on him, so basically I’m doing the work.

I mean-when the nice ladies came out to take pictures of our farm-who did they give actual Farmer Focus merch before the photo shoot? Not to sound cocky, but you can see for yourselves.

These pics COULD’VE been better-but they left a very important feature pinned on the back of the pickup during these 🧐 but it’s ok. I forgive them.

It’s pretty cool-you can look up our story on line and see all about how dad and I grow chickens. (These pictures are all from there.))

Or you can just talk to me and I’ll catch you up on the farms latest.

Like Dad’s Buck.

Dad is really a great guy. And he comes up with the best games.

His latest one has been kinda like “I spy”. I have to pay really close attention, but he peeks out the windows of the house and peers into the woods in the early mornings and in the evenings.

It’s up to me to guess which window he’ll be looking out next, so I FLY around the backyard and am usually sitting beside the window by the time he gets there.

Sometimes, he even dresses like a tree. But I still can find him.

And then I hear him question to nobody in particular or me (not sure which) “where’s my Buck?”

Dads sure can be confusing, but I do really like this game. So I didn’t overthink what was happening.

Until Saturday afternoon.

Dad came back from town with the biggest box. I’ve only recently gotten into opening packages that the mailman left for him, and oh boy! I couldn’t wait for him to set it down and go inside . I bounded over to his truck door and went thru my little kangaroo welcome routine.

But sadly, Dad opened the box himself and sadly-er yet, he pulled out the tiniest little fur ball of attitude I’d ever seen.

I tried to be friendly enough even though I had my serious reservation about the matter, and all it amounted to was Mr Attitude spitting his milk breath all over my face and Dad smacking me on the rump and saying “Boone! Be nice!”

And then, just when I thought I’d seen everything, Dad scooped up Mr Attitude and without a backwards glance at his patient and humble servant, he stated “ You’re coming inside tonight, Buck”

So tonight I curl up in my frigid little doghouse and try to ignore the throbbing pain of a broken heart.

Maybe tomorrow while we’re doing chores or playing “I spy” out the window, Dad will decide it’s my turn to spend some quality time in the house.

Wait- please tell me that this Buck cat isn’t what Dad’s been looking for all along.

Yours until the cows come home (without us having to give them a strong piece of bark

Master Boone Rohrer M.D. [Main Dog]