The Secret I Finally Had to Share
Life on a farm has a funny way of keeping you honest. Animals don’t care if you’re having a bad hair day or if your boots don’t match your shirt. They’ll bray, squawk, and squeal with equal enthusiasm whether you’re at your best or your most frazzled. But still—there was one thing I’d managed to keep to myself for far too long. A secret. And like all good secrets, it had to come out eventually.
It started small. Whenever visitors came to Boggs Funny Farm, I’d brush it off with a laugh: “Oh, Henry the donkey is the loud one,” or “Don’t mind the chickens—they run the place.” But behind the barn doors and the TikTok videos and the chaos of goats trying to eat my laundry, I knew the truth. And it wasn’t about Henry’s carrot obsession or the pigs’ uncanny knack for opening gates. No, my secret was much bigger than that.
You see, I wasn’t just filming farm life to share funny clips online. I was hiding behind the animals. Every bray, every goat headbutt, every chicken that photobombed a video—they weren’t just comedy gold. They were cover. A distraction from me.
Because the truth? The secret I finally had to share? This whole crazy, hilarious, chaotic farm wasn’t just about making people laugh—it was saving me.
I’d spent years thinking I had to fit into neat boxes: be serious, work hard, don’t let anyone see the messy, ridiculous, very human side of life. But then came Henry. Loud, stubborn, braying-his-head-off Henry. Then came the chickens with their sass, the pigs with their mud-slinging antics, the goats who never respected personal space. They didn’t care about appearances. They just lived. Loudly, unapologetically, hilariously.
So I started posting. At first, it was just silly clips: Henry stealing hats, chickens running like feathered track stars, goats climbing where they had no business climbing. I laughed along, but secretly, I felt lighter every time someone else laughed too. And then came the messages: “This made my day.” “I was having a hard time, but your farm videos cheered me up.” “Please never stop sharing Henry.”
That’s when it hit me. The secret wasn’t really about the farm at all. It was about me. I needed this chaos just as much as everyone needed the laugh. I needed to admit that joy can come from the messy, muddy, unpredictable parts of life—and that sharing those moments wasn’t silly, it was powerful.
So here it is: The secret I finally had to share is that Boggs Funny Farm isn’t just a farm. It’s therapy in overalls. It’s laughter when I need it most. It’s connection—between me, the animals, and the millions of strangers who somehow feel like friends every time Henry brays on camera.
And you know what? Letting that secret out feels a lot like Henry on a fresh pile of hay: free, unbothered, and ready to roll around in it for everyone to see.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life’s too short not to share the funny, the messy, and the downright ridiculous. Especially when there’s a donkey leading the charge.
