I am deliriously happy. At this very moment, my office is home to six adorable, healthy, hoppy, beautiful baby chickens.
At this point, I'm going to have to admit that although I consider myself to be a thoroughly pragmatic person, I have succumbed to sentimentality about these animals. (Surprised?) I didn't want them to suffer a cold, thirsty 48 hours in the US Postal system, so I purposefully ordered my chicks from a hatchery within "driving distance." Fresno. In the central valley. According to Googlemaps, a 3 hour drive away from my house.
Vastly inconvenient for me, of course. But far preferable to subjecting the peeps to the indignities of packaged travel.
My reputation as a hardass will be further in tatters when I reveal the following. On the ride home, I noticed that my passengers (traveling in comfort in a vented box on the floor of my passenger side) would peep with distress if the temperature in the car crossed below 90 degrees. So I rode home, through the 105 degree central valley, without AC. Every now and then, when my face began to throb, I would allow myself a brief blast of 75 degree air. Then the peeping would start, and I would resignedly turn off the AC...and step on the gas.
Not surprisingly, I made it home in 2.5 hours. No incentive like imminent heatstroke to inspire one to travel beyond the speed of sound.
Anyway, chicks and I arrived home safely, despite my warp-speed travel. Thanks to my tech-savy husband, the babies were installed in a cozy, temperature-controlled brooder (set for 95 degrees, donchaknow). My daughter, rescued from bedtime by our arrival, was beside herself with joy. And I was filled with the satisfaction of having realized a dream that was months in the making.
Have I mentioned I'm happy?
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