Nick wants to try goat’s milk, to see if it’s easier on his stomach than cow’s milk. He found one place in the area that sells it, so he made arrangements to go today and pick some up. We got a bit… not really lost, because we were in the right area, but confused. We stopped at the mailbox with the address number on it, and there was a house behind it with chickens in the yard… but no signs of goats or a milk barn.
I told him to drive. Find a place to turn around and go home. I did NOT want to get out of the car at that place, nor did I want anyone else to. It was such a strong feeling, my head felt ready to split into multiple pieces. He went and turned around, but Nick still wanted his milk, so I told him to park on the side of the road and walk across to get it himself. He called the place, and found out we were actually parked next to the guy’s drive…across the road from the mailbox. Nick walked up the drive on his own, and Mom, the Kidling and I waited in the car. The pain in my head eased off to a throbbing ache. Nick returned with goats’ milk, goats cheese, and a dozen fresh eggs, and told us the animals were well-cared for and the place was clean and organized.
I still think things would have gone bad had we gotten out of the car on the other side of the road. The chicken were free-range… and Rhode Island Reds, which are NOT the friendliest of the chicken families.
Sometimes, you have to go with your gut instinct to avoid trouble. Or, in my case, the sudden over-whelming urge to run at top speed and pray I can see straight enough to stay on my feet long enough to get out of range.