The Repressed Farmer

A lot of people have a repressed desire to farm. I know this is true by the number of people who have virtual farms, you would not have virtual farm if you didn't have some primeval urge to farm. We are all descended from people who tilled the earth by the sweat of their brow, it's in our blood. People used to deal with it by farming, raising chickens, and pigs, planting enormous gardens and canning everything that was possibly cannable and many things that were only passably cannable. The world has changed, fast forward to the modern age and people still feed that repressed inner farmer, by using Facebook apps such as Farmville, buying cases of canned goods at Cost-co and growing mold in the refrigerator. They may not even be aware that they have repressed inner farmer.
Cursed with an inner farmer that was not satiated with such simple pleasures, she begged for chickens and got them. I am not passionate about chickens, they smell, they poop and many of them lack endearing qualities. My inner farmer loves chickens. She loves the way they make soft clucking noises when they're happy and trumpet to the world when they've laid an egg. She loves the sight of a beautiful big bird scratching in the distance. She likes nurturing the flock. I do like the eggs, it's all about the payoff, the difference between a day old egg, laid by a real chicken with access to dirt, bugs and sunshine, and a month old store bought egg is amazing.
Now my 'farm' has goats, two lovely girls, just dying to give lots and lots of fresh, creamy, sweet milk which I shall turn into mounds and mounds of glorious cheese. All will be happiness, sweetness and light. Odd, unrealistic things happen on the farm in my head. Ahh, dreams. I know that eight chickens and two goats do not a farm make, but they sure make my repressed farmer feel less... repressed.