Mags: "I'm gonna name my chicken Foo Foo."
Tuck: "Mags, you already had a fish with that name."
Mags: "Then I'll call her Foo Foo Two."
Tuck: "Your SECOND fish was that name."
Mags: "Well then what about Foo Foo Three?"
Tuck: "Mags. That was your last fish's name. You've had a lot of fish with all the same name. Maybe try a different name."
Mags: "Yeah. Cause the name Foo Foo doesn't seem to be keepin' my pets alive."
It's 2AM and I'm up right now. You know why? Chickens.
We. Got. Chickens.
It seems that deep rooted Mama instinct extends to pets that live in your yard, too. Don't get me wrong, I've been productive while I sit here wondering about how our three new feathered friends are doing. I haven't heard a peep out of them so far...which all moms know could mean one of two things. But it is raining pretty hard out there. I hope they're not cold. Or scared.
Someone smack me.
They're fine. I'm sure of it. Well, technically, I'm not certain they're fine. It's dark over by their little fortress we built them, so I can't really SEE them. Maybe I should turn on the outside light for a peek? I can't just run out there in the rain. What if *I* scare them? You know what they say...let sleeping chickens roost...or something along those lines.
How can I be so tired and so awake all at the same time?
Okay. Enough is enough. I'll trust in our research and constructing abilities for the coop. It has more layers of poultry wire on it than a hen could shake a tail feather at. So, it's off to bed for me. I'll be able to squeeze a solid four hours of sleep in here. And hope that we all wake up to clucking chickens. Fingers and feathers crossed!