The Chicks Are Up

Mister and I were incommunicado this weekend as we read, snacked, and napped at Manka’s Inverness Lodge. You can’t get a cell or the Internet so what’s an iPod-owning, MacBook Air-toting person to do?

Buy chickens.

In fact, we’d been planning this for months. Mister order a coop and pen from MacMurray Hatchery as a Christmas present. (He assembled it last night!) We had to wait for chicks to be born as we’re not prepared to do the full incubation and hatch them. Impulsively, one might say, we purchased three chicks — a Rhode Island Red, an Araucana, and a Barred Rock. We haven’t named them though I’m thinking of calling the red Mooch because she’s always leaning on the others, and the rock Lala for no good reason other than I like the sound of it.

At present, they are ensconced in a box in our dining room that is lined in shredded newspapers. The girls have been asleep under a light all night and likely will be all day, too. It’s supposed to be 95 degrees in there. It probably isn’t, but we’re close. I put a blanket over half of the box for insulation. The basement proved too cold. (If your chicks are huddled under the lamp, they are cold; if they are far away from the lamp, they are too hot.)

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