Laughing My Way Through Farm Chores: A Comedian’s Country Life
When I traded my city streets for country roads, I thought I was signing up for fresh air, peaceful mornings, and maybe the occasional Instagram-worthy sunrise. What I didn’t anticipate was that my farm would turn into a full-time comedy stage, with chickens, goats, and one particularly judgmental donkey as my co-stars. Chores that were supposed to be routine quickly became laugh-out-loud adventures.
Take feeding time, for example. I imagined tossing a few handfuls of grain, hearing a polite cluck or two, and moving on. Reality? Absolute chaos. Chickens dart around like tiny feathered NASCAR racers, elbowing one another for the best bits of feed. One hen, Gertrude, has perfected the art of stealing food straight from my hand, leaving me hopping on one foot while she cackles triumphantly. Every morning feels like I’ve signed up for a poultry-themed obstacle course.
Then there are the goats. Goats don’t understand boundaries. Fences? Optional. Personal space? Nonexistent. I’ve found myself chasing them across the yard mid-chore, one goat balancing on the fence while the other steals my rake. Once, while trying to fix a gate, one particularly ambitious goat decided my hat was a snack. I may have screamed, but the goat won—then strutted away like a model on a runway.
And Henry, the donkey, is a character all his own. He’s the self-appointed foreman of the farm, supervising every task with loud brays and dramatic eye rolls. If breakfast is late, he stages a protest loud enough to wake the neighbors. And heaven forbid I try to wrangle him—he’s more cunning than he looks, often outsmarting me with a single flick of his ears. Watching him parade around with the feed bucket is equal parts infuriating and hilarious.
Chores like mucking stalls or collecting eggs are not immune to comedy either. There’s always that moment when a chicken decides it’s the perfect time to bolt, or when a goat barges in, turning a simple task into a slapstick routine. I’ve slipped in hay, been sprayed with water, and had more mud on me than I intended. Each misstep becomes a story, each disaster a punchline.
But here’s the secret: the humor is exactly what makes farm life so rewarding. The laughter transforms frustration into joy, turning ordinary chores into memorable adventures. By the end of the day, even the messiest barn or the most rebellious chicken feels like a stage set for comedy gold. And while the farm might leave me sore, muddy, and slightly exasperated, it also leaves me smiling—sometimes through tears of laughter.
Being a comedian on a farm isn’t about performing for an audience; it’s about finding humor in everyday life. The cows, the goats, the chickens, the donkey—they’re all my unwitting collaborators, helping me see the ridiculousness, chaos, and beauty of country life. And every time I laugh through a chore, I realize something important: comedy isn’t just what I do on stage—it’s how I live.
From feeding chaos to runaway goats, farm life is the ultimate comedy club. And the best part? There’s no cover charge—just the promise of laughter at every turn.
