On a lovely fall afternoon, as the temperatures in our frigid area were just entertaining the idea of dipping below freezing, I received a phone call from my teenage daughter.

“Mom, I found our eggs and they’re alive!”

“What ?! ” I asked. “The missing eggs from the chickens? I found them – all 21 – and at least six are alive. The missing hens are here too.”

“Where’s here?” I asked. “On the hay bales behind the tarps, “she answered. “What do I do? They are sooo cute.”

It was at this moment that I knew any hope of not harboring baby chickens inside of my home was lost. It was the way she said soooo cute, and the tone of her voice that sealed my fate. They were moving in.

“Okay,” I said. “Grab your brother, a box and some bedding and bring the babies in.”

“What about mama?” she asked in horror. “You cannot take her away from them. She would be so sad. She’s purring mom. Like a cat.”

Damn!

“Okay, mama can come too, but NOT the extra unhatched eggs.”

“But mmmooooooommmmm, some of them are moving.”

Double damn!

“Okay, bring them all in,” I said, “and put them on the hearth, I’m going to look up how to care for baby chickens born in the freakin’ late fall!!!”

That’s how it came to pass that I arrived home from work that evening and found a mama chicken, 21 incubating eggs, 3 babies and 3 almost- out -of -the -egg babies in a laundry basket on my fireplace hearth.  It was going to be an interesting ride. I would show you pictures of the motely crew, but my phone was lost in the transport of said chickens and the new phone doesn’t have them chronicled – sad.

Four months have passed now. We kicked mama out a month in – as an aside you might find it interesting that when mama hens hang with their chickens on a fireplace hearth they purr – yup, just like a cat all purring and loving and unchicken like. Must be how the species got this far. Anyway, we kicked her out and the remainder of the unhatched eggs (which, BTW stunk beyond words) went too. Thank GOD. Can you imagine 21 baby chickens in your house on the hearth all winter? As it turned out, only three survived. And, today, I found out the best part of all…

TWO OF THREE ARE FREAKIN’ ROOSTERS!!!! Wanna know how I found out? Cock-a-doodle do  – well, more like hacckkkk – cough – spit a doo  at 3 dark thirty this morning. They haven’t quite found their voices yet.

Have I mentioned that I also have two grown roosters and 6 hens? Started with 17 hens. Yea  – about that. King Cluck – the original accidental rooster who arrived from the all hen store is a gorgeous Rhode Island Red with a lovely cock (-a-doodle -doo) – that apparently killed the hens.  Then, because I am a sucker, I brought home 6 more hens from the school I work at last spring only to discover that one of those hens was also a rooster. Happily, for all involved King Cluck and Rooster 2 (we haven’t named him) get along. King Cluck made it clear early on that the hens were his and no touchy or I eat you. Rooster 2 has left well enough alone.

Anyway, now I have two more roosters and the temperature is an average of 5. CRAP!!

Kicking them out will assure their demise. So will keeping them in because I will kill them myself they decide to sing the song of their people day and night.  So, there is only one solution.

I shall move them into my daughter’s room. She is the one that got me into this mess, and I’m willing to bet in 24 hours she’ll be begging for me to take – I mean get – them out!

Cock-a-doodle- NOOOOOOO!!!!!