1Today was the big day.  Today was the day that we were going to Chick Days.  I just found out about Chick Days yesterday.  The children and I were super excited.  We were going to head out to the local small town and pick up some chicks.


That’s not what I meant.

We were going to pick up some baby chickens.  Because I like chickens.  And fresh eggs.  Also, I’m not a creepy guy who uses the word “chicks” instead of “ladies”.

Chick days, if you didn’t know, is an exciting celebration put on by the local small town feed store.  They have chicken themed prizes and treats.  They have special prices on all things chicken related.  Also, they have hundreds and hundreds of chicks.

Once again, you can relax, guys.  I still mean “baby chickens”.  There was absolutely nothing there related to ladies.  Unless you are a lady who likes chickens, which I am.

Now in the world of chickens there are 65 recognized breeds.  There are chickens especially for egg laying, and there are chickens especially for meat.  There are larger chickens and there are smaller chickens.  There are chickens with feathers on their feet and there are chickens with no feathers on their necks, but as far as I’m concerned, there are only two kinds of chickens.  There are fancy chickens and there are boring chickens.

Guess what kind of chickens I wanted.

I was super excited for chick days, especially because at least half of the chickens there were going to be fancy chickens.  I was prepared to buy 10 fancy chickens.  I have a special, very interesting chicken coop, built by The Pastor where my new fancy chickens were going to live.  I was so excited.  The new coop was all ready.

The Pastor only had one request.  The new fancy chickens absolutely could NOT hang out on our porch.

A little back ground.  We have had chickens in the past.  Chickens are a lot of fun and very helpful.  They lay eggs and they eat ticks.  They also provide hours of entertainment.  Okay, maybe more like minutes of entertainment, but I’m easily entertained.  Really, the only bad thing about owning chickens is that they like to hang out on your porch.  This may not seem like such a big deal except that I didn’t yet mention that chickens poop.  A lot.  Like every thirty seconds.

A little more background.  Over the last few summers The Pastor built a nice porch on our house.  It’s actually a little more than nice.  It’s super fancy because The Pastor knows that if he is going to start a project around the house that I have to walk around for the better part of two years, I had better end up with something pretty fancy as a result.  So he knew when he started this porch project that I had better end up with the fanciest porch in town, or he had better be prepared to buy me diamonds.

It is the fanciest porch I have ever seen.  It wraps all of the way around the house.  Some parts of it are covered, some parts of it are open and some parts even have a pergola over it.  Also there are different levels of this porch.  It is the fancy porch of my dreams, and I tend to dream big.

I am very proud of this porch.  The Pastor is very proud of this porch.  So it should not have come as any surprise when I started talking about chickens that The Pastor said “You know, if I catch even one of your chickens on the porch, I will probably lose it.  I will probably lose is so bad that you won’t have any chickens any more.  I think maybe it would be a good idea for you to come up with a plan to keep those chickens off of the deck.  You know, so your chickens can live a long and happy life.”

I thought The Pastor was being a little unreasonable.  Didn’t he understand that these fancy chickens were going to make me happy?  Did he understand that they were FANCY???  Didn’t the idea of fancy chickens hanging out on the fancy porch just fill him with joy, the same way it filled me with joy?

No.  It did not fill him with joy.  The Pastor was filled with frustration.   Fancy chickens who poop on the porch he spent two years building did not appeal to The Pastor.  Apparently we dream different dreams.

So I came up with a solution.  I would keep the fancy chickens in the fancy goat proof pasture that The Pastor built for me.  They would still eat all of the ticks and lay all of the eggs, but they would do it from the other side of a goat proof fence.

By the way, if anyone tells you something is goat proof, they are lying.  What they really mean is that no animal created by our Lord God can escape from it without a substantial amount of human help.  Goats were apparently NOT created by our Lord God.  Goats can find a way to escape any containment that is preventing them from eating your flowers and climbing on your car.  Also goats can fly.  No one has ever seen this, but I kid you not.  We came home one day to find our goats had not only escaped from a six foot double reinforced chain link fence, but also were casually hanging out on the roof of our house.

To get back to chickens, The Pastor agreed that the super fancy goat proof pasture would probably hold my fancy chickens.

This was a green light as far as I was concerned.  Chick Days was happening today and I was going to be the first lady in the door.

I was not the first lady in the door.  I was not even the thirty first lady in the door.  I have children and children have other agendas that, shockingly, do not involve fancy chickens.  I had a sick child this morning, and a child who “didn’t want to go”.  I also had three children who needed hair cuts.  Like right now.  So I tucked in the sick kid with Mr Idon’twanttogo agreeing to babysit.  I also hauled three kids to the hair salon by 10am so that we could at least be at Chick Days reasonably early.

The hair salon turned out to be anti fancy chicken too.  Why else would they be under staffed and over booked ON CHICK DAYS?

We finally arrived at Chick Days at one in the afternoon.

It was everything I dreamed it would be.  With one small exception.  We ate special snacks and signed up for chicken themed prizes.  Then we went to pick up my fancy chickens.  There were plenty of chickens, they were just out of fancy chickens.

It appears that the US Postal Service also hates me and my fancy chicken dreams.

All of the boring chickens had arrived at Chick Days just as planned.  The fancy chickens on the other hand were last seen somewhere in Texas.  They were missing.  All that was left were a bunch of boring chickens and one disabled fancy chicken.  She appeared to be injured and couldn’t walk well so none of the people who had been the first people through the door had wanted her.  A broken chicken is not fancy, after all.

I was so sad!  I had been so excited.  There had been dreams, big dreams, of super fancy chickens.  Now I had to choose between accepting boring or broken chickens, or going home empty handed.  I turned to my three children and asked “Do we just want to go home with some boring chickens?”  I asked it in a voice that said “No we do NOT want to go home with boring chickens.  Boring chickens will make me crabby every day for the next few years, so the real question is: Do you want to deal with a crabby mom every day for the next few years?”

“No!!!”  My children agreed.  “No we do NOT want to go home with the boring chickens!”

Then Baby Snarky piped up “We don’t want boring chickens!” he agreed.  “We want the broken chicken!”

I did not want the broken chicken.  Broken is not fancy.

Baby Snarky did not agree.  Baby Snarky was now in love with Broken Chicken and if I left Broken Chicken at Chick Days he would be ever so sad and broken hearted.  Forever.

I was swayed.  Maybe a broken chicken could be fancy.  Maybe I could call a broken chicken “shabby chic” and convince myself that it was a style choice.

There was only one more problem.  Even if I bought broken chicken, she wouldn’t survive by herself in the chicken coop.  It is just too cold, and I was NOT bringing home boring chickens to keep her company.

“She can’t sleep in the chicken coop!”  Baby Snarky agreed.  “She is too little, and also, I LOVE HER!  She can sleep in my room!”

The sales clerk snickered.  The other customers giggled.  “Chickens can’t live in your room, kid.”  they were all saying.

And this is the exact moment where broken chicken was guarantied an indoor home.  Because nobody tells my children what they can’t do.  Also because maybe there is nothing fancier than a broken chicken that has been hand raised by a little boy who loves it.

So the Chick Days people may have thought I was a little disturbed when I looked at them square in the face and said ” Chickens CAN live in his room.  Chickens just can’t hang out on the fancy porch.”  and proceeded to buy one broken fancy chicken.  Who now lives in Baby Snarky’s room.

At least until next week when more fancy chickens are scheduled to arrive.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, this chick needs to figure out how to explain to The Pastor why there is livestock living in his youngest son’s room.



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