But the point is...we may have lost the #1 son this morning as his cherry red Ford Ranger rolled down the driveway on the other side of the wall of tears blocking my irises, but this evening we discovered NINE NEW CHICKS! I'm sure #1 would be so happy to hear that he was replaced at the Mansion by 3/4 of a dozen fine feathered friends. He loves those fowl so! I'm surprised he doesn't carry one around with him as a pet, like The Mudge Boy. Or paint its toenails pink like those wacky rednecks on last season's Redneck Island. Okay. That's not really plausible. He hates the flock.
The Pony made the discovery. Farmer H was reclining in his La-Z-Boy around 5:00, resting up from the big freshman move-in day at #1's institution of higher learning. He sent The Pony as usual to collect the eggs. Imagine the surprise, upon perusing the barren goat pen for wayward hens' eggs, The Pony saw a flurry of movement which turned out to be a hen never before known to sit, with a circle of cheeping satellites that numbered nine chicks of varying fluffnicity.
Farmer H shot out of his recliner like Usain Bolt out of the starting blocks. Like the RoadRunner (beep! beep!) out from under an imminent sky anvil. Like a tiddly pinched by its wink. So much for being exhausted. I'm surprised he doesn't keep a supply of auction cigars to pass out on these occasions. He usually notices which hens are determined to sit, and puts them up with a certain number of eggs where they won't be bothered. Keeps tragedies like The Great Almost-Hatched Egg Massacre from recurring. I'm not sure The Pony has recovered from that one yet. He was a bit younger. Pranced out to the chicken coop every day to see if the chicks were here. And found their pecked, broken-egged, lifeless bodies in a heap. Chicken wars. Nobody wins.
Don't think this is the proud papa protecting his brood. He's only there to eat the corn The Pony tossed to the new mama. These are mutt chickens. Some Ameraucana, some black silkies, some turkens, mostly Heinz 57. It is quite possible that none of those nine chicks have a shred of DNA from either of these two adults. Who knows which crafty hens laid their eggs in this previous non-sitter's nest? We'll have to see how they turn out as they grow up.
We know how the #1 son turned out. He ain't chicken.
4 comments:
"We'll have to see how they turn out as they grow up." Another journey in your life as a Mother. Looking forward to happy and funny posts as Genius makes his way through life. There will be funny times, I am sure of that.
HM--Perhaps you can chronicle the life of these 9 chicks during this school year, and send the document to #1 Son, since their entrance helped ease the pain of his exit (from being a homeboy as he transitions into a college boy)?
I'm sure he would enjoy the photos and the tales of these far-from-foul fowls...
knancy,
My traveling spy, Farmer H, reports that #1 seems almost a bit homesick. Though he won't let on in front of the other guys in his suite. I shall try to send him a Stalker Mom letter on occasion, just to keep him off guard. Of course, it could just be Farmer H projecting, since I caught him moping in his La-Z-Boy this afternoon, lamenting how he didn't think he would miss his boy THIS much.
*****
Sioux,
That's it! I can send him regular updates on the new livestock. He will be thrilled. I will stop short of sending an actual chick. I'm sure there's some kind of ridiculous regulation forbidding livestock in the dormitories.
Gotta love the love. I hope everybody does well. If I remember correctly, it was like someone squeezed and then wrenched my heart from my chest when my son left. It will become more bearable, I swear. Especially, when he brings all the dirty laundry home and an over drafted banking account!
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