So this happened this week:
That is a box of peeps. Peeping away as I drive them home from the post office.
I now officially own chickens. I’ve been excited about it for a while, and I still am. What I wasn’t expecting was the associated level of anxiety. I’ve been worried about everything. Now I always worry about everything, so it’s really nothing new, but the quantity of things I was anxious about is just stupid. I had dreams about the quantity we got. In one it was eight, in another it was three. In one they were all dead.
The first night, when we set up the box and put the heating mat under it, set to the appropriate temperature, I kept having visions of cooked chicks. I wanted to get up and look, but didn’t want to wake my husband.
Now that we’ve had them for a few days most of the anxiety has dissipated. Looking forward to getting the coop assembled and them being big enough to go outside.