Closet Farming

Paco and I have decided to come out.  "Our names are Madhadder and Paco, and we own a farm."  It all started so innocently--a 1924 farmhome in need of a caretaker and 8 acres that cried, "FARM ME, SEYMOUR!"  At first we were just mowing and fighting dandelions.  Then we got into the hard stuff--gardening, outbuilding repair, landscaping, and rhubarb.  Before we knew it, we were asparagus users, llama owners, and even started dipping garlic.  From there it was a short freefall into raspberries and hostas.  A tractor soon followed, and when our resistance was completely down--a 4-wheeler.  I kept thinking that a rope swing would keep Paco from succumbing to the habit, but no, once his hands were dirtied by the taint of his own land, he sunk into the mire.  Our parole officer has said that chickens would be the worst possible therapy, but the admonition may have fallen on deaf ears.  We see no out.  The addition of 11 alpacas seemed to designate the inevitable Point of No Return.  All that really remains to be done is to add our warning for the collective good of society.  Please know that we're seeking help.  And for the love of all that we hold dear, be ever vigilent in watching your own children for tell-tale signs...