Fair Warning: This post contains profanity. Lots and lots of profanity.
If yesterday was a long day, then today was a never-ending day. My husband was dispatched to his first wildfire of the season. He will be gone anywhere from 24 hours up to 18 days (including travel days) depending on the needs of the fire. Lucky for me he is still in Colorado, not too far from home. Also, my parents are in town for the week so I have helping hands abound. I spoke with Brian this evening as he settled in to his tent for the night, meaning he does have cell phone reception (not always likely) and he can update me as to their progress on the fire. He is currently working to get his Engine Boss certification, so any experience he gets now will go towards his education requirements.
In other news, I have decided to write a new book. I have extra time on my hands since my fourth child is out working on a wildfire. I also seem to be missing my filter…this too is Brian’s job. Late at night after the children have gone to bed and before Brian can drift off to sleep, I fill his ears with crazy ideas and general thoughts from my day. Sometimes I talk about wanting to publish a coffee table book of photographs…photographs of people pulled over on the side of the road taking photographs of the beautiful roadside scenery. (We have a lot of this in our little valley.) Other times I talk about the unspoken tragedy behind corned beef and cabbage farts. Mostly he ignores me.
But tonight my mind is focused on this new book. It is a snarky little title about managing flocks of 200+ laying hens. The origination stems from the frustration of looking online for solutions to common problems in laying flocks and finding solutions that best suit flocks of 3-4 chickens. Obviously I cannot hand bathe or coddle each of my 200+ hens as the average homesteading/homeopathic/overly-romanticized-laying-flock blog post would have you to do. I mean, chickens appear to cluck out of their assholes if you observe them closely enough – and there is nothing romantic about that. No, I figure there needs to be a realistic guidebook for those with large flocks and very little time for bullshit…or chickenshit…or clucking assholes.
Oh my god, I’m just going to go ahead and apologize for all of this now. And let’s all take a moment to appreciate the fact that I found someone who agreed to marry me and to put up with all of this for the rest of his life. Hmmmm. I hope this predicament is not why he has chosen to run into burning buildings for a living….
Well, I have just finished the rough draft of my book and I hope you will enjoy getting a sneak peek at it:
So, you’ve decided to outnumber yourselves with chickens. Way to go. I will let you figure out for yourselves why this is a horrible fucking idea. If you plan to survive to tell your tale, here are a few things you should know.
In a single lifetime, a laying hen will make you a profit of $12. And let’s be honest, chickens aren’t cats, so one lifetime is all you’re gonna get from that hen. On top of that, $12 is only enough to do one of three things: buy you two watermelons (which I could eat in 24 hours, easy), buy you a watermelon and a cheap bottle of rum to inject into said watermelon (which I could also eat in 24 hours, with ease), or support a wicked little TicTac habit for that same 24 hour period. On second thought, none of these sound like a horrible idea. Plus, if you operate on the economy of scale and shoot for 250 birds, then you could either be shitfaced for well over half the year or have really great breath. I think I might need to order a few more birds…
Chickens don’t have anuses….chickens don’t have anii? (My editor will clear this up later.) Basically, chickens have “everything” holes. Peepoopeggholes. Hehehehe. Peepoopeggholes is my favorite new word. Anyhoo, I like eggs and I can get over the fact that they come out of the same hole as the peepoop. But what I want to know is this…do chickens really cluck out of their assholes? Has anyone done a study to confirm one way or the other? I just assume the noises are coming out of their face, but every time they open their beak they also open their peepoopeggholes. Seriously. It’s disturbing.
Natural Remedies for Common Ilnesses
Things commonly said in the henhouse:
Sneeze in my presence and you will die.
Which end does your cluck come from?
Ouch! That’s a mole, you bitch!
From whence doth thou cluck commence?
This is a nest box damnit, not a hotel room.
Seriously, did your asshole just cluck at me?
Dig one more hole in my garden and I will feed you to the dogs.
Ouch! That’s a freckle damnit!
Did. Your. Ass. Hole. Just. Cluck. At. Me?
How to properly bathe 200+ hens when one of them *possibly* has external parasites:
How to market your eggs: Lie.
Client: Are your chickens happy?
You: Oh absolutely. I have never stormed into their coop and accused every one of them of clucking at me with their assholes. Ever.
Client: Are your chickens free-range?
You: All day, err day. They never sit inside the cozy coop eating expensive chicken feed all day instead of foraging for bugs and fighting off predators.
Client: You don’t eat your chickens, do you?
You: No, never. We have a wonderful retirement plan for our girls.
Laying Hen Retirement Plan
The replacement flock: Well, do you want another year’s worth of rum-infused watermelons? I mean, let’s face it, I spend my day consorting with assholes, who cares if my breath smells good or not.
Seriously. Give it to me straight, I can take it. Did your asshole just cluck at me?
If you’re anything like me, you expect my first book to win some type of award. And if you’re anything like my husband, you’re fast asleep by now because you learned to start ignoring me a long time ago. Sweet dreams.