I remember it well….I was sitting out in the chicken yard, watching the little chicks/chickens grow up and peck each other, and listening to all the entertaining noises they make, and I saw a little brown wooden egg at the base of the cedar tree. “What kid left their little egg out here?!” I was pretty frustrated. They leave stuff EVERYwhere. Act like children, all five of them!

So I move over to pick it up and begin preparing their punishment, “Death by lecture,” in my head. Points 1-3 included, “It could rot from rainfall, someone could slip on it, the mower could send it through a window,” etc etc etc. I picked it up and realized, wait a second. THIS IS A REAL EGG! In my yard! It happened!! So I check the nesting boxes… YES. There’s a SECOND one! I was on cloud nine. Here are the pics from that WONDERful day. Happy happy memory.

Yes, yes we did blow one out, (you use a sewing needle, insert two teensy holes, one in each end, blow through the egg until you have an aneurysm, or the insides come out, whichever comes first. Then put water in there and blow it out too. Then obsess on whether or not it’s dry.) and we polyurethaned it, and put it under a dome. Yes it stayed there for months. No, it’s not still there. The novelty has indeed worn off.

This is the text I received from my mom today, on my 38th Birthday:

“Happy birthday. Never dreamed that when I first gazed into your little face and held you in my arms… ” (at this point my heart is quickening, because my mom is NEVER emotional or tender with her words with me. She’s loving, but not… mushy. And I LOVE mushy.) …”that you would grow up to have a chicken fetish and actually tell people about it.”

My reply? “You’re making me all teary-eyed over here….Can I put this on the blog?.”

(I was pretty excited she already knew the name of my blog.

And that’s why I have a Chicken Blog now. It’s my birthday present to me! 😉 I think I’ll post more of the story today. Maybe I’ll even get to the day my hubby built me a coop. Maybe!

This is my baby, Liesel/Libby on my birthday last year:

When we first got our “brood,” we named each chick that we could identify. The Americuanas were/are Flip Flop (from FlipFlopSpanish.com) Cinnamon, Sugar, Pumpkin (the runt) and Morph. The Barred Rocks were ALL “Buddy.” We enjoyed having a Buddy with us each evening. Here’s my Buddy one evening after dinner during Spring Break 2013.

Back in March 0f 2013, we had a fleeting thought — what if we couldn’t get to a grocery store? “It’d be nice to at least have eggs.”

 

So that was that.

I went to pick up our five chicks (five chicks for five kids – no fighting. Yeah, I’m one smart momma.) But they didn’t have any at the first store. HUGE SADNESS. So we ordered them. Then we stopped at another. And got five chicks. So the fetish began before I met my first chick. Here are pics of those two events, one week apart.

Our first five were Americaunas (or Easter Eggers) and then the next five (except I got 7, because sometimes they die…) were Plymouth barred rocks.

And most likely you also like chickens. I am just a little addicted. I can stop any time. My first job is going to be chronicling the beginning of the addiction. So. Be patient like a chicken.