My chicks arrived Thursday morning.
They're cute as, well,
little fuzzy baby chicks.
They are tiny and they sit in the palm of your hand and they go peep-peep-peep.
But I know their days of being adorable are numbered.
I just stopped into my local feed store to get a new heat lamp and saw they had some chicks for sale.
2 1/2 week old chicks.
Not so cute.
No longer going peep-peep-peep.
Walking all over their smelly green poo.
Feathers beginning to come in every which way.
Not in that cute-soft-fuzzy sort of way, but more like the chin-stubble-of-a-teenage-boy kind of way.
Oh well. The kids and I will enjoy a bit of precious while it lasts.
The thing that I dread more than the loss of their cuteness is the approach of their certain demise.
See, I have a not-so-strong history with chickens.
The first time I got them I did not fully appreciate the importance of a fortress-like chicken coop. I had a stall in the barn all decked out for them, but my barn was by no means critter-proof.
Needless to say, I came out one morning to find a bunch of feathers, a piece of wing here or there, and not much else. They were good eats for the foxes.
And it was a lot of chickens, so one of those clever foxes must've gotten the idea to do a delivery service that night. Or somethin.
I'm just saying, it was a lot of chickens.
But that was years ago.
I'm older and wiser now.
I've got a varmint-proof room in my barn all ready for my little chickadees.
But even that didn't satisfy me. I was afraid their heat-lamp might mysteriously malfunction in the middle of the night and they would freeze to death all huddled in a ball of cuteness.
So I'm keeping them inside for a while.
In Rosie's bathtub.
How does a 13 year old girl feel about having to share her bathroom with a dozen or so chicks?
Oh she's good for now because of the teenage-girl-affinity-for-all-things-adorable thing.
But I know in two weeks' time, when their stench overpowers the rankor of her bathroom, she will be peeping a different tune.
When they're ugly.
And have I mentioned smelly?
Our farmdog Annabelle surveying her new charges.
The chickies are 'ere!
Click here if you want chicken for dinner.
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