While the Farmer was away

Actually, the Farmwife was away too. So you would think the mice had ample opportunity to play. But they didn’t. As far as I know, anyway. I’m not on Facebook anymore – my account has been hacked into one too many times – but I think if there had been a party at the Fisher farm in my absence, someone would have surely told me.
Maybe it was because Milena, the eldest, was in charge. Or maybe it was because we were only gone for a few days, in the middle of the week. Not too many people would be up for a party with school the next morning. Or maybe we have done a pretty good job raising a fine bunch of young adults.
In any case, we were happy to come home to find that the house was in good shape, the liquor cabinet was still full, and the animals were all where they were supposed to be. The only sign that people had been here in our absence, in fact, was that the barn cats were suddenly tame, crowding around my feet when I entered the barn, and the new ceiling fan in the sunroom works. Pat, the future son-in-law, fixed it. He gets points for that.
So all is well. I don’t know why we didn’t do this sooner – leaving the farm in the hands of the very capable offspring while we take off for a few days. I guess I had nothing to worry about. Must have been thinking about someone else’s kids. Like the ones I grew up with.
I remember going to one house party where a goat ended up in the kitchen and a dog was in the pool. The dog didn’t concern me much – he just swam to the end and climbed out -but I remember being worried that certain inebriated houseguests might try to feed the goat alcohol.
There was no evidence of partying with farm animals in our absence. There were, however, signs that the animals were having their own party in the barn. Donkey had once again knocked the gate to the storage room off its hinges. He and several dozen of his woolly friends had their way with the cat food, sweet feed and bags of disinfecting powder in the storage. Oh yeah – and they spilled the Farmer’s tools all over the floor and pooped on them. Nice.
It was during this intensive cleanup session that I found a strange item, stamped into the manure on the floor of the barn. The Farmer’s black leather belt was there. It was dirty, mind you, but I still recognized it. I had been looking for it since our return, because the Farmer needed it for his day job, as a dress pant-wearing university professor.
I brought the belt back to the house, made a mental note to deal with it later, and sat down to call Milena to thank her for looking after things. She reported that she had enjoyed her stay at the farm, that it was both relaxing after a long day of work and stressful at the same time. Donkey has been particularly mischievous in Misty’s absence, as he finds life quite boring without her. He can’t wait til she returns from summer camp. He entertains himself by tackling the sheep and dragging them around, with a foot in his mouth. Milena said she had to yank the axe out of the wood stump and chase Donkey down the field with it until he let the sheep go free. I asked her if she was wearing her high-heels at the time. She didn’t find that particularly funny.
“Oh yeah, and that broken-leg lamb wriggled out of her splint so I tackled her and made her a new one,” she reported, proudly. “She put up quite a fight but I held her down and strapped her up good.”
What did you use? I asked her, just as the answer formed in my mind.
“One of your tea towels and an old belt.”