T GAMBLE: Whose turn is it to feed your pets? Oh, mine again

Having children tests an individual’s ability to make good choices. Once children are born, of course, one wants to make sound decisions so their children can be a success and end up like them. You know … neurotic, confused, stressed and bewildered.

Most all parents tell their children about how they were raised and then say, “If I turned out OK (after whatever it was they endured), then so can you.” Examples are given like “I studied in a two-room schoolhouse without heat, water, or adequate oxygen. Don’t complain to me because the school had no air conditioning yesterday, and it was 112 in the room. I survived it and you will, too.”

A parent growing up could have been beat in the head with a ball peen hammer daily, and they’d tell their child, “It won’t hurt you to be hit in the head with a hammer. I was hit every day, and it didn’t cause me to be a failure. I never once complained during the three years I spent in fourth grade, and it did not affect my grades one bit, I tell you. So quit complaining because Sally hit you in the head with a baseball bat.”

In short, it is hard to be a parent and make good choices. I decided when the kids were very young they should learn about livestock and animals. You know, I did growing up, and Lord knows you can’t get a good job these days without knowing about livestock. So I bought a horse, a Tennessee walking horse, a donkey, two pot-bellied pigs, some barn cats, and some chickens. I don’t know about the kids, but I learned a lot. Mainly don’t buy a horse, donkey, pony, pigs, barn cats and chickens.

All of these creatures can be great fun. Some are even loveable. But there is one thing wrong with all of them. They like to eat, and somebody has to feed them. Seventeen-year-old boys playing football and driving hotrods don’t place high priority on daily eating for livestock. If my son were in charge, I’d have the only pigs in America struggling to gain weight. My 18-year-old daughter means well, but she has 10,000 things to do and 10,001 involves the animals.

So it is 10:30 p.m., 38 degrees, and the wind is blowing. I was going to watch the end of “Oak Island” because — could it be?! — tonight they find something? Well, probably not, but I don’t know for sure because I’m not in a nice warm lounge chair eating ice cream and trying to figure out if a rusty piece of iron might actually be the handle from the ark of the covenant. Nope, I’m entertaining Some Pig, the 350-pound, kinda pot-bellied pig, who is the world’s largest testament to never drinking a few Miller Lites and then going to a school auction. You could feed him the fender off a ‘55 Chevy, and I think he would eat it. He loves me and anybody else that will feed him.

The horse thinks he is a dog and hasn’t been ridden since Obama was in office. The pony horse hates people and comes up only to eat. The donkey loves everyone and will bite you if you don’t pay him attention. Being bitten by a donkey is like having someone place the meat of your back in a vice and twisting it. I pay attention to the donkey. The chickens provide eggs and are the only productive members of the group. The cats act like cats. Yes, you owe them and you owe them now, so please feed me now.

Oh well, I now play the game of whether I will outlive them or they will outlive me. Just a little hint to them: Better hope I outlive you, or you better be ready to go on a diet.