Have you experienced those times when you think you are so clever that you actually talk to yourself about how clever you are? You know – those moments when you figured something out or had the right answer to a difficult question and even your peers are awed by your ability.
I had one such experience last month. While building our new chicken coop, I needed a fool proof way to open the gate latch of the coop door from the inside. I devised this ingenious mechanism (or so I thought) that would allow me to lock the coop behind me as I go in to fill waters or collect eggs and as I exit, a simple pull of the lever would release the lock on the outside. This is all detailed in my farm update post from April. The latch had worked flawlessly for over a month and was recorded in my mind as one of my small engineering accomplishments.

doorlatchoutside
Fast forward to several weeks ago to a morning no different than any other expect for one key difference. The night before as heavy rain storm with blowing wind had passed over the farm and soaked everything nicely. This storm dropped copious amounts of water on the property recharging the streams and watering holes, boosting the pasture grasses, energizing the growing potato plants, and even rinsing the dusty pigs. The storm did one other thing I was not expecting. Rather explain it now, I will describe it as it unfolded that morning so you, the reader, can appreciate my surprise within the context of the story.

Prelude
In order for you to suck all the marrow out of my experience, I have to explain the typical morning routine at Red Tool House Farm.
I am the first to rise somewhere in the 6:00am to 6:30am window. As I dress and start to head outside, I usually wake Kelly. She comes downstairs to start her Bible study time while I tend the animals. I join her later for study time before the boys stir. This is typical.

The morning I am attempting to illustrate, was by no means, typical. At 6:30am I was dressed and ready to head out. My nudging of Kelly was not very effective this specific morning as she appears to be as unconscious as a Sunday morning college student. I thought briefly that I should check for a pulse, but instead I elected to let her sleep. Mistake #1.
I fed and changed the water in the brooder that housed our sixty plus chicks. As I strolled out in the morning air, the rain-soaked grass in the pasture paints watery strokes across the thighs of my jeans and adheres hundreds of tiny grass seeds to my boots. It was a beautiful morning.
I fed the chickens in the new pasture area and noticed that their water supply inside the coop was not going to last the day. I would rectify that issue after I had tended to the pigs. A quick hike down into the valley to the pig pasture gave me some time to spend with the three little pigs (who aren’t so little anymore).
Upon returning to the chicken coop, I reached in the coop and removed the waterer and filled it with fresh water. As I entered the coop, I pulled the door closed behind me so no chickens would escape. The gentle click of the latch assured me that none of my feathered ladies would sneak out. Little did I know that click was the sound of my impending doom.
I hung the waterer and checked on several other items inside the coop. As I turned to leave, I grabbed my cleverly designed latch release handle and gave it a tug. Nothing. Another tug. More nothing. A third tug caused the handle to break off in my hand. Oh, crap. Apparently, the intense rain from the previous night had caused the dowel rod, which acted as my mechanism’s axle, to swell so much it was wedged tightly inside the shaft. It was not going to shrink back for days.
I quickly assessed my situation. I am locked in a coop that I built out of heavy lumber with pop doors that would not even begin to accept my shoulder width. There was only one way in or out of that building for a non-chicken and that was locked by a very nice, heavy-duty gate latch.
As I peered out the small crack in the top of the door, I could see the house and the windows to the boys’ bedrooms. Windows were closed.
One of my useless talents is the ability to whistle very loudly. So loudly, that my boys know to seek me out if they hear it within a half mile of where I am standing. I think to myself, I can wake them with a whistle and they will know to come let me out. I also realize that Kelly must be up by now and this cool morning would entice here to open the living room windows while she studies. Surely she will here my high pitched distress signal.
After twenty minutes of whistling, my lips hurt, my ears were almost bleeding, and I was still locked in the coop. Even my most loyal dog decided to leave sentry duty at the outside of the coop and go lie down on the cool concrete by the garage. She must have assumed I was whistling to amuse myself. The dogs on the old TV shows that know your in trouble and go get help – she is not one of those.
I checked my cell phone in my pocket and verified what I knew would be the case. No cell service and the coop is about 100 feet outside the range of my wireless signal. Screwed by technology yet again.
I sat on a nesting box to reflect on my predicament. With my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands, and a dejected countenance upon my face, I began talking to the chickens that were gathering around me.
“Well, ladies. I assume you think this is funny?” I mumbled.
Their replies were not helpful. As one perched on my shoulder and another pecked at the saw dust on my boots, I wondered when would my family come looking for me? How long will I be in here? The sun pouring through the translucent roof was making the coop quite warm. I had fresh water, I have fresh eggs, I even have fresh chicken. I could survive for days if need be. I imagined briefly that I was a Vietnam POW and was being sentenced to hard time in the “sweat box”. Where’s Rambo when you need him?
At the 45 minute mark, I decided that I would rather have to repair or rebuild this coop then spend another minute in it. I proceeded to “mule kick” the door over and over again until it finally gave way with a crash.
Free at last! The fresh air was invigorating. I had finally escaped from that Hanoi chicken hell and with my anger boiling over I was ready to go to war. I quickly sought out an enemy.
The dog was not a good choice. She is loyal to a fault and would have helped if God had given her the ability to communicate and opposable thumbs. Instead, I entered the house quietly and with Chuck-Norris-like stealth worked my way upstairs. Not a sound could be heard. As I slithered into the bedroom, I saw Kelly lying in bed carelessly flipping through her emails on her phone. Game on! I believe my opening remark had a great deal of volume to it and was something like:
“I don’t suppose you heard me whistling, screaming, and yelling for the last 45 minutes when I was locked in the dang chicken coop?!?!?”
I believe I kicked something and punched the wall as well. You know, manly, ignorant displays of physicality.
Kelly quickly sprung from bed and did what she does so well. Calm the beast. Her soothing tone and gentle hugs took the edge off, but I still was yelling, “It’s not your fault but I am so freaking mad right now I have to yell.”
A cold shower and some intense prayer (including repentance) relieved the pressure and soon we were both chuckling about it.
Here are some take-aways from this life lesson:

Pride cometh before the fall
Never build a building with only one exit
Dogs with thumbs would be very helpful
Expect your family to find you in trouble about the same time the vultures are picking your bones clean
Quiet time with chickens isn’t as therapeutic as one might think
Sit on your wife if she isn’t awake when she is supposed to be
Carry an airhorn with you everywhere you go
Install wireless internet in your chicken coop for just such an emergency
Don’t do the crime if you can’t handle the time (how do inmates not go crazy?)

I can now laugh about this. I hope you have too.