If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to live on a homestead, imagine a reality TV show that’s part Duck Dynasty, part Animal Planet, and part Survivor — but without the million-dollar prize at the end.

Things have been… let’s call it energetic around here.

Charles: The Goat Who Refuses to Goat

Charles, our bottle baby, has officially decided that he is not a goat.

According to Charles, he is either:

• A dog who should be allowed on the couch

• A toddler who should be allowed inside the house whenever he knocks at the sliding glass door

• Or a very small human who just happens to have hooves and a questionable scent

Unfortunately, reality disagrees, but try explaining that to a goat who has mastered the art of puppy dog eyes.

The chicken yard has turned into something between a soap opera and a high school cafeteria. Joe — our resident mean he — has decided that the teenage chickens are the enemy. Can’t put them together without Joe channeling her inner WWE wrestler.

Chicken Drama: Feathers, Fights, and Teen Angst

So now we have a “no-contact” rule between them, because apparently barnyard politics are a thing.

Daisy Mae: Big Dog Energy in a Small Dog Body

Then there’s Daisy Mae. She’s tiny, but don’t tell her that. She struts around like she’s the queen of the pasture and spends her days chasing anyone (and anything) that dares to exist in her line of sight. It’s like having a sassy grandma with a taser on the loose.

My Morning Routine (a.k.a. Why Coffee Was Invented)

Every morning starts with a bottle feed for Charles. Which sounds adorable — until you realize it’s at the crack of dawn, before the sun has even considered getting out of bed. While normal people are still dreaming, I’m standing in the yard, hair in a messy bun, clutching a bottle of warm milk like it’s a peace offering to the tiny, screaming dictator that is Charles.

By the time the rest of the farm is fed and I’ve broken up at least two chicken arguments, I’m already tired enough for a nap. But instead, there’s homeschool, laundry, and the daily game of “Where Did the Goat Go?”

Homesteading is loud, messy, exhausting… and somehow, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Except maybe an uninterrupted cup of coffee.