I don’t want to be an enabler.
I really don’t.
My wife and I were sitting in the living room the other day when our doorbell rang. I wish this wasn’t the case, but our doorbell ringing without warning is rarely a good thing. We don’t have that many neighbors, and most of our family and friends just come on in.
But, ring it did, and as I opened the door I was surprised to see the couple from two doors down. They’re new to the neighborhood, and we don’t know them well yet. Their kids turn their bikes around in our driveway, and we wave when one of us drives by, but that’s about the extent of our relationship.
After we exchanged pleasantries, the couple got down to business: “(Our neighbor in between our houses) said you’d be able to tell us about your chickens. We’re thinking about getting some ourselves.”
I don’t know the direction that I expected our conversation to go, but that wasn’t it. My mind was racing…was I willing to be partly responsible for a decision that could lead this young couple down a path that’s hard to come back from?
What if the habit stuck? What if they found themselves with something like rabbits or ducks? Miniature goats? Would I be able to live with myself?
Heaven forbid they find themselves involved with bee keeping or permaculture. All because of a conversation that started innocently. What should we do?
“Sure, we can help you with that!” I replied.
…What the heck…you only live once.