Ze chickies, zer coming...

I'm nesting. Not pregnant, just nesting. You know, because baby chickens who live in a brooder in the well house care if the window is clean. (In my defense, it seemed pretty ridiculous to clean up the well house and rid it of hiding places for Big Scary Things like Spiders, and not clean the window.)

Also, the part of the brooder my dad built looks official, and the part I built looks ... well, not so much. He built the crate part out of wood; I stapled cardboard to the sides and bent up some small-gauge chicken wire I found to make a top. You say jerry-rigged like it's a bad thing. Again in my defense, how else was I supposed to keep the chicks from jumping out through the gaps in the sides?

So, they arrive in the post office on Monday. And then I will be an official country girl. I have feed for them and everything.

My fat white cat is sitting on my lap cursing me and you and all the rest of humanity. He thinks he is terribly neglected and abused since we made him a studio cat, and he is vocal in his disapproval of circumstances every time we come to use the computers.