The Agony And The Ecstasy (Not To Be Dramatic Or Anything)

Those pictures are of Curly Sue, as we are calling her. She is Elvis's child. Chick. I have no idea who her mama is. One of my hens. She is the only one of our flock's eggs that we incubated which has hatched. There is one other egg from that bunch which started to hatch but there has been no progress in a very long time.

There are two other babies who are doing very well and they are part of the clutch of banty eggs that our neighbor's chicken laid in our garage and which are the whole reason Mr. Moon started this project. I'm sure there will be pictures of them eventually but getting good pictures of baby chicks is harder than you would think. They are dark-colored and feisty. All three of those chicks seem fine. They can walk and get to the feeder and the water and they are acting like baby birds should act.

One other banty egg hatched but that one does not seem to be doing very well. He had a very hard time freeing himself from his egg and either he is going to die or else he is just very, very tired and needs to rest. On his side. A lot.
We have no idea.
He's still in the incubator because we're afraid if we take him out and put in him with the other three they will peck him to death.

There are two other banty eggs which have pips in them and which we still have hopes for.

God. I can't take this. It's just too much emotion.

It's been an odd day, to say the least. I never did feel like I woke up entirely and so the day has had a dreamlike quality about it. I have merely drifted about, and still am drifting. I made bread which will go into the oven soon and I am making soup of already-made soup and other leftovers, doing what I do best which is to take leftovers and make MORE leftovers.

Sometimes I wish I would wake up one morning and be a more decisive person. A person who can go through clothes and toss them aside to give away or throw away. A person who can throw away leftovers and a person who can do any damn thing at all without weighing and measuring all of the moral, ethical, emotional, spiritual, and practical ramifications.

Just DO shit and get over it.

I've never once danced naked in a fountain. Not in Paris or anywhere else.

Well.

I suppose that is the least of it.

I need to go check those chicks again. I need to go stir the soup pot. I need to go caress the loaves of bread with olive oil before I put them in the oven.

Sigh.