First of all, let me just get this out of the way: I’m crazy. Probably certifiable.
Let’s review: I have seven 3-week old Buff Orpingtons in my Florida room. And a duck. Here are the Buff Orps in their current state of half-featheredness.
Within two weeks, I’ll have six Partridge Rocks arriving. Day-old chicks. Starting all over from scratch (no pun intended). So what did I do today? Went and brought home six tiny Ameraucanas, of course. Look at these, though, and tell me you could have walked away.
They totally played on my weakness for owls. Tiny, fluffy, peeping owls. And I just keep telling myself that my layers will molt this winter and we will need the eggs. Need them. But I’m still crazy. It’s OK. As I understand it, all the best people are.
The duck hasn’t been forgotten in all of this. Today he got to play in the bathtub and get all cleaned up, which my almost-3-year-old thought was the best thing ever.
So, we’ve established that I’m crazy and that my bathtub now needs a good scrubbing. It also needs to not be pink anymore, but we’ll settle for an absence of duck residue.