I got chicks the other day.
Did you know that in the olden days, baby chickens were called . . . chickens? Hens were hens, Roosters were roosters, and chickens were chicks. Apparently, there was no name for the breed as a whole. That’s why the popular succulent rock garden plant, is called “Hens and Chickens.” Because in the olden days, that would have meant hens and cheepers. Isn’t that cool?!?!
I don’t know how I knew that. It may be wrong. But, I don’t think it is.
As of right now, the chicks are still alive. Last time I got chicks, they met a horrible and untimely death when they knocked over their water dish while I was out. It was the most tragic experience of my young life.
So, because of the folly of last time, I put a big rock in their water so they can’t knock it over. I also poke them awake every time I notice that they’re asleep, just to make sure they’re still alive. I also check on them every 5 minutes in a blind panic, only to find contented little chickens complaining about all the ruckus I’m making.
I thought it would be cool to dip their feet in ink and put chick tracks on the letter I was writing at the time. So, I grabbed my bottle of ink (of course I have a bottle of ink in my desk drawer. What else would I load my fountain pen with?), grabbed a peeper, dipped her (hopefully it’s a her, anyway) lower extremities in ink, and set her on the paper. The good news is that I now have some fabulous modern art. Sure, you can’t really tell what it is supposed to, you know, actually be, but that’s where the modern art thing comes in, right? The bad news is that now all my little peepers have black feet. I personally have nothing against black feet, but I think my chickens might.
Pictures coming soon.