I am a story thief.
I can’t help it, and even if I could, I wouldn’t help it. I steal stories. I hear good ones while I’m out and about and think that’s going in a book someday.
I had this experience the other day while we were at a party with college friends. We have this friend, Daniel, who can make literally anything funny. He commented on the door handle while we were standing on the front porch and it was hilarious. It’s something about his word choice and dry wit that make me wish he and his family didn’t live three counties away.
But anyway, he told us a story about a friend and a cow and I said, “Daniel, that’s going in a book some day. Just so you know.” But I couldn’t wait for a book. I think we need a blog post about the snoring cow today.
(I hope I get all the details right. I didn’t write it down fast enough…)
So, Daniel has this friend who has chickens.
(He started telling this story in the first place because our other friend Bethany wants chickens but her husband thinks she’s crazy. And we were all telling her horror stories of owning chickens, which is where Daniel piped in…)
Something was getting into the guy’s chickens and killing them.
(I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to personally meet a chicken, but they’re sweet and funny little things. Endearing, really. So when you go to feed them in the morning and find that something has murdered all your little feathered friends in the night, it’s upsetting…)
Some of the chickens, the ones in the coop, were fine. Nothing was bothering the cooped poultry. But the chickens in the barn were really getting mauled.
So Daniel’s friend decided to put a baby monitor in the barn one night to see what was causing the ruckus. I’m guessing he planned to run out there with some sort of weaponry to halt the chicken murdering process (or something) when the noise started up.
(Killing chickens is rarely a quiet event…)
But it didn’t work. Nothing came to bother the chickens that night. He was kept awake all night, though, by the cow’s snoring. The noise right through the baby monitor, loud and clear.
(And I don’t know why I find that so hilarious, but I do.)
That’s it. That’s the whole story. The end.
You may now go about your day.