|That's a sex link, alright|
Just this morning, for a slap-stick example, I trekked from house to barn without my cover-alls because they were cold and inconveniently shoved into the bottom of the entry closet and anyway I never get all that dirty. And as any observant human versed in the irony of fate, today was the day where the March mud was too thick for the crap load and the wheelbarrow and I were obligated to wrestle and I was dressed, not as a seasoned wrestler, but as idiot in fresh jeans. And that's how I am, ill-suited for almost every task of modern life, like I'm the one that was born yesterday.
Is it really possible to come into this world like that, completely prepared for it? That's why I stare at the baby chicks. My kids are maybe thinking they're cute, but I'm trying to suss out the magic of being perfectly suited to the life before you.
We picked up a rainbow of chicks. The store policy, untransgressible as always, is a minimum purchase of six chicks. So we came home with six - several more than I wanted. We can see the housing crash coming from here. We are going to have to figure out how to house 8 chickens (including the two that survived our first batch). It's a riddle alright.
|humanling mastering the fine art of existence|
It's not that you don't want to do anything, it's that with chickens there's not much to be done. I no longer felt like telling her how I cradled them, hand mixed antibiotics, pried open their lock-jawed beaks and dripped it in on Christmas Eve. I no longer felt like cataloging the process of the discovery: NO vets in the area know anything about chickens. When I meet these sorts of quick, erroneous assumptions, I admit I'm confused about how to deal with them. I don't owe anyone anything, any explanation, any excuse, anything. And that's all explanations sound like to someone who's made up their mind about you: lame excuses. And yet, sometimes it might make sense to defend oneself and reputation, but it's just chickens...
In other arenas, I'm learning to bite back and bite quickly. I present more Valley Girl than Smarty Pants. This is really a problem, believe me. And so when patronizing arises in circumstances where I need to be respected and heard, it seems to be working well for me to address the problem immediately, mid-sentence, and them move on to my larger point. But with chickens, who the hell cares? I guess that's just what she meant... they're not worth biting back about.
So we've got Leghorn ("Ah say, ah say, ah say whatcha lookin' at, son!") Luna, Rhode Island Red Poppy, Rhode Island Red Glory, Wyandotte Sri Racha, Black Sex Link Ninja, and Black Australorp Zoe. And in a few months, they'll meet Barred Rock Dragon and White Rock Priscilla. That's eight chickens and seven varieties. As they say: We don't just tolerate diversity, we celebrate it! And until disease, coyote or owl strike, this is our rainbow of egg-makers, a pot of golden yolks at the end.