Sometimes, I feel a little bit guilty that I get to stay home, with the kids, in my PJ's, while he works from 8am Sunday until 1am on Monday morning.
I was sleeping when he came in. I told him to wake me. He did. That earned him a garbled, barely audible hello. I'm not even sure it was 1am (edit: it was 2am...). It might've been later.
It'd sure be nice if semi drivers could keep their rigs upright and on the road.
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We bought baby-chicky supplies today. A waterer, a feeder, baby-chicky food, and cedar chip bedding. They only had meat chickies in stock, but the eggers will be in tomorrow, so we're going to stop on our way home from swim and gym, and buy our new baby-chickies.
I asked the guy there a few basic, baby-chicky questions, one of which was, "How old are these little guys, right here?"
Three days old.
I was immediately awed by the ability of baby-chickies to grow up, from the moment of hatching, all alone. I mean, I don't imagine there are very many people who have only one chicken, so they're never really ALONE... but they never have a momma.
They eat, and hunt, and drink, and survive with absolutely zero help.
When you think of farm chickens and ducks, you see a Disney version of events where the babies hatch, and the momma is happy, and there they all go, off in a waddling line to explore their new world.
It's weird to think that little baby-chickies are born with all that knowledge built in.
Unfortunate that more humans aren't born with so much common sense and instinct...