The Honest Courtesan

Regular readers know that every year, I look forward to the arrival of baby chicks around the end of February.  Last week the manager at the local Tractor Supply told me they would be arriving on Wednesday, so I made plans to buy mine on the following Monday (yesterday).  I got out the chick corral, brought the heat lamp and a fresh bulb in from the henhouse, and started keeping Speck out of the bathroom (where she often likes to hang out because we keep it warm).  But when I got to the store, they’d already sold out!  It’s not really a big deal; they’ll be getting more tomorrow, and I have to go back to town on Thursday anyhow, so I’ll just buy them then.  It isn’t like it really matters if I get them in the first week of March rather than the last week of February; they’ll be inside for three weeks regardless, and as I’ve been keeping chickens for almost 20 years now, I’m not exactly going to plotz from anxiety if I don’t get them quite as early as expected.  Plus, as a middle-aged-heading-rapidly-toward-old woman, one would hardly expect me to get as excited as I do about a box of baby dinosaurs in my lavatory.  And yet I do; I reckon it’s part of my charm.  Or a symptom that I’m actually a bit of a kook where animals are concerned.