So our morning chores. In no particular order of importance (but we do it in this order because it's easier). We feed the goats (we have four, three girl goats and one boy goat) at the back with a mixture of broken rice husks and a bit of charcoal from our fireplace, broken into little pieces. Hatsuga said that it helps keep them alive (I know right? Eating charcoal? Keeping them alive? Out of curiosity, I've tasted it before. Blergh.) because it clears their stomach from all the plants and weeds they eat in the backyard.

I don't question it out loud because we've always done it this way. Okay, maybe I have. Hatsuga just looked at me funny.

Then we brush them down and try not to get hit by their back hooves. One of them, whom I call Ha-chan (because she always has a leaf in her mouth) always looks very grumpy in the mornings and will try to kick anyone that gets close. I had to duck. Hatsuga fared a whole lot better than me, but then again he's been helping out a lot longer.

We milk them after. Hatsuga had to teach me how. He does it really well in one swift tug of his fingers. For me, the experience was very slippery and weird. It's like trying to squeeze all of the water out of the rag we use to wipe the wood down on our engawa, but I have to do it gently or the goats make a fuss, kick the metal pail and run away.

The milk fills three pails about a quarter of my size that the both of us have to lug back.

"Hhrnng!" I wrap my fingers around two (yes, two) pails and stand up really quickly. I thought the force of my movements will help me lift both pails up but they don't budge. I blink. "Hnngngh!" I try it again, hoping the result will be different this time around. It isn't. Two pails are too heavy for me to carry.

"Toru. Step back." Hatsuga gestures for me to step away from the pails. I take a few steps back, letting the handles clatter noisily against the rim. "Here. I'll show you what a real man can do." He adjusts his grip on the pails and heaves. A grunt comes out of him and all of a sudden he's lifting both of the pails with a smug smirk.

"Woaaahhh, Hatsuga-nii! You're so strong!" I look at him with rounded eyes, clapping my hands together for his wondrous feat, "Can I do that when I'm as old as you?" I really, really want to get stronger and become a man, not that I'm not already a man right now, but still.

"Heh." Hatsuga says through his nose, "You can try kid, but you'll never be as strong as me." He waddles away towards the house, both pails in tow.

I pout, grabbing the leftover pail with my chubby hands and follow him. Carefully. So the milk doesn't spill. We'll sell two pails at the morning market later for five hundred ryo each. Enough to buy a small amount of rice and bread for the whole family, some firewood for the day and a bit of soy sauce and miso. Enough for tomorrow's breakfast, lunch and dinner. The one pail we do keep is for today's breakfast. Hatsuga and Kaika says milk makes you stronger so I'm definitely drinking all of my share today.

After setting aside the milk in the cool shed, it's time to feed the chickens and collecting their eggs. For breakfast. We have seven chickens, one boy chicken and the rest are girl chickens (hehe, I'm really good at counting).

"Hey, Hatsuga-nii?" I say, carelessly throwing the feed around my feet. The chickens wobble their way closer to me and start pecking at the seeds and grain, eager clucking echoing around me.

"Yeah?" He says. He's all bent over in the chicken coop trying to get the freshly laid eggs of the day which meant his butt is also sticking out of the small entrance. You know what would be funny? If he got stuck like that.

"Why do we call boy chickens 'roosters' and girl chickens 'hens'?" I scowl, eyebrows knitting together. My hands stop scattering the feed and I adjust the weight of the wicker basket by my hip, "Isn't it easier to call them boy chickens and girl chickens?"

"What are you talking about?" Hatsuga says. He bumps his head on the inner roof of the coop, groaning in pain. "Toru, you- I don't make the rules for these things okay?" He tries to push himself out of the coop once he's made sure that all the eggs are safely in the basket in his arms. "E-eh?" Hatsuga grunts, "I can't get out."

I cackle. The chickens around my feet dash away.

"Also why do you keep using the door for the chickens instead of the door for humans?" I say, walking over to the coop and unhinging the front netting. The wall of the coop facing me pops right open to reveal easier access to the nests. Hatsuga's eyes go wide.

He scowls, sounding very sheepish, "I-i didn't know that."

"Now you know." I say sounding smug. I take the basket of eggs from his arms.

"Now help me out!" Hatsuga wriggles his body in the entrance, "Or I'm gonna-! I'm gonna-!"

I skip away, cackling with two baskets at my hip.