feathered friends.

So, I did it. I caved.

I had told myself that we could not get chickens until we live on the farm.

Then, one day, I decided I could have chickens. You know, if I wanted to.
Like I could have cookies for dinner... if I wanted to. (Don't worry Mom, I don't... most days.)

And then, as if I was afraid I'd take back the permission I'd given myself to move forward with my chick-y shenanigans, I called a breeder almost instantly.
(And yes, there are chicken breeders. Who knew?)

Within minutes, we were on our way to pick up our new feathered friends just one county over.

Was this a hasty decision, you ask? Yes'm.

Had I thought it through? Not really...

Where was I going to put these little chirping balls of fluff? I dunno. (And I say that with a four year old's full-shoulder/upper body shrug.)

What was I going to feed them? See! Now here, I do have an answer... You see, I had felt this bird fever coming on, so I had ordered some mighty fine chicken feed. You know, just incase. 

And what the heck were my long-term chicken goals? To have them, and hold them, and keep them forever. ;) Truthfully, I'll have to give you another "I dunno," complete with shoulder shrug. 

And, let me just tell you, I don't know who was actually more excited about our new family members - me or my little lady.

She has loved on those chicks daily! She's introduced them to the back of her dump truck, picked zillions of flowers to give to them, and even helped with the chicken chores. She is in hog (err, chicken) heaven!

And speaking of my little lady - we named each of the chicks after words she said as a baby/toddler that may or may not have had a real meaning, but she said often.

Ready for their names? Putico, Shluey, Chowpangy, Blowey, and Westerday.

The only problem is they've all turned out to be perfectly and unchangingly white. 

So, who's who? Your guess is as good as mine...

But we don't care. And they don't care. So it's all good. :)