Crazy Chicken Lady

Well, dear reader, it is the time of year when the "I Need More Chickens " fever takes hold of me and makes me do irrational and questionable things. Now, hear me out, because I do have logic this year. In years past, it has been sheer want, minor obsession, okay, maybe full-blown obsession, but this year, there is a need. You see, my original feathered lovies were adopted at a year old in 2019. That puts Crooked Toes, Fuzzy, Jordan Short's Twin Who Isn't As Cute or Smart As Jordan Short (Yes, that is her whole name), Dell, Diva, and the crew of ten to twelve at approximately eight years old. Eight is old for a hen. Eight means they are way past their prime for laying. If they are past their laying prime, it means I may not have enough eggs to rationalize keeping a flock of chickens. With only fifteen hens left and two roosters, all my homegrown babies have died except for little Colette, who currently has wry neck, but that is a story for another day. I NEED more chickens. Yes, it is a need, not a want. 

So, dear reader, I am giving up hatching my babies until I talk to my vet, understand the complexities of vaccination, and know how to vaccinate my own homegrown babies. Also, I want a new coop to separate my different breeds of chickens, then I can get hens and roosters and keep the lines pure instead of a backyard mix. However, I don't think Eric is going to let me build my chicken Taj Mahul this year... sigh. He is always so unreasonable. Anyhow, for now, I am giving up on hatching babies, so I need to buy vaccinated chicks from large hatcheries. Here is where I get into trouble. I add all the different, colorful egg-laying breeds to my cart, then I end up with 50-60 chicks in my cart, a million dollars in chickens, and a husband who says no pick ten and only ten. Sigh. 

I can't just pick ten. I want the ones who lay chocolate colored eggs, Copper Marans. I want the ones who lay pink eggs, Javas, and Salmon Faverolles. And of course, I NEED more Cochins and in all the colors! Then, there is poor Bob Dylan, who lost Joan Baez to a murderous red dog. Bob Dylan needs Silkie friends to keep her company. She needs friends with good hair, because these flat haired b*tches are just jealous of her full-bodied, glorious afro. I can't just pick ten. It's impossible. It's a cruel and unreasonable ask. It's like saying, which one of your fingers do you want to keep, and which ones are you willing to part with. None! I want to keep them all! I currently have my cart whittled down to forty different chicks, three of each variety, because three is the minimum order. However, I know as well as I am sitting here writing to you, The Bibbed Wonder will never agree to forty chicks. 

So, I have to decide my strategy for ordering all the chicks I want. I would really like to build one of those cute little farm stands and sell my eggs, soap, and, in the summer, flowers. The Bibbed Wonder will agree if I can prove a profit. Money is his language. Now, if I could sell my chicks and keep my breeds pure, I could hatch babies, and sell vaccinated babies, keep vaccinated babies to replace my chickies, and that could be an angle for my chicken Taj Mahul? If I can make a profit from my chickens, that would work. Yes, I need to approach this as a business opportunity and not a crazy midlife crisis. I can't even say it is a midlife crisis because let's face it, I am still very much a child at heart. However, if I can speak his language of passive income, I can get what I want, make him happy, and do what I love. This plan could work. Stay tuned, dear reader. 

So, now I have a business plan to write up, chicken shopping to do, and a nay-saying dream crusher to convince that I am a business mogul, and not an insane menopausal chicken hoarder. It's going to be a busy week...insert a wink. 

On this warm March day, stay safe, be smart, think like a business mogul, and keep washing your hands.