The shortcut to your good friend’s house involves tramping through a field of brush.

There are chicken coops and rabbit hutches in the 200 person “suburb” around the county seat.

The gym has a sign saying “No muddy shoes.”

Nobody has silly rules like no clotheslines or no gardens in the front yard.

Your mother goes to the laundraumat, meets an acquaintance, talks about her goats, and receives a serious lecture about fowl. Turns out the car dealership owner is a serious chicken afficianado. Who knew?

Your knitting group discusses living without indoor plumbing. Because several members have.

Your dentist’s office calls to say your mother’s goats are out, and we can’t find her, so you need to go put them away. (They were, and I did.)

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