I sit here at my desk typing this column and I am literally surrounded by the paperwork of six loan transactions, pieces to end-of-year scrapbooks for four elementary school teachers, triathlon training schedules, field trip permission slips, nail polish (writer’s block tends to make me want to paint my nails). The school year is wrapping up and the end-of-year crunch is upon us.
As if the tornado that is my office was not bad enough, the temperature in here is that of a sauna. When you open the door, you are hit
with a wave of hot air that is almost suffocating.
with a wave of hot air that is almost suffocating.
But I can deal with the temporary mess and even the heat, especially when it’s for a good cause. And I assure you, it is for a good cause. Because drowning out the sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard is the much lovelier and sweeter sound of the five 3-day-old chicks currently nesting under a heat lamp near my desk.
Yes, chick season is finally here. It’s no secret that I like pretty much all little creatures, but there are few I love more than chickens. After four years of living a chicken-free existence, I have once again welcomed my favorite little feathered friends into the fold.
The kids are beside themselves with excitement. They don’t remember having hens and roosters when they were younger, though I have the pictures of them holding chickens to prove it. They don’t even remember Pork Chop, the sweet but mentally challenged turkey. But they do remember me ordering five baby chicks about two months ago and they have been harassing me ever since with questions of their impending arrival.
“Are the chickens here yet?” “When are the chickens going to get here?” “Can’t you call over there and ask them to make the hens hurry up and finish laying on their eggs?”
Finally, last Thursday, we received the eagerly awaited phone call that the chicks had arrived at the local feed store. Friday afternoon was the scheduled pick-up time. We ended up skipping the girls’ gymnastics class. There was no way Natalie and Emily could do cartwheels and backbends with the world of chickens waiting.
No sooner had we selected our little Araucana chicks then each of the little balls of brown fluff had a name. Violet, Nugget, Fl0ppy Wings, Drumstick and Fluffernutter. Our little flock of five. According to Emily, buying the chicks is the best decision I’ve ever made.
If ever there were lucky chickens, these little ladies would be it. It’s like they won the chicken lottery. The chicks have spent the past few days being pampered in every way possible. They sit in little nests of towels, blankets and pillows being doted on by my children and their friends. They even get to watch television. iCarly is the current favorite.
I’m pretty busy with my own crew during the day, but when the kids finally pass out in their beds, the chicks are all mine. They cheep pleasantly while I work, serenading me with their sweet sounds. And when I’m finished with work and writing, I’ll probably even let them cuddle with me on the couch and watch a little tv before bed.
It was Charles Schultz who wrote that happiness is a warm puppy. Now I like puppies as much as anyone else. Cats, frogs, goats, lizards, rats, hamsters and gerbils too, for that matter. But trust me when I say that real happiness is not a warm puppy, however adorable they might be. Real happiness is a fluffy, warm, cheeping chick, still tiny enough to almost fit into the egg it hatched from,
nestled comfortably in the palm of your hand.
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