It is so nice to see all the cute pics up here - really brightened my week.
On Wednesday, I finally went through what most of you have gone through a gazillion times, and it was tougher than I thought: My boys left me. Or maybe I left them. Cari took three, Paulo took three, and the coop got empty in a hurry. Thanks to some handholding from Dana and Miriam I got to the end of the day without calling Cari and screaming, "BRING BACK CABOT!" but it was a near thing. I still wait for him to jump on my head every time I bend down to scoop feed, and I am told that the roosters are always the sweet ones when they are little.
The funny thing in all of this is that, for the first time in my life, I was pretty close to ideal with the final count, though my family thought I was pretty nuts initially with the mass of chicks on the floor. I kept repeating, "The BYCer's said this is Chicken Math. Follow the BYC. I am taking a leap of faith. Off the cliff, but a leap nonetheless." I never thought I would refer to "correct" and "math" and "me" in the same sentence, but I guess there we are.
My hat goes off to all of you for doing this all the time. That's probably what made the pioneer women strong - they had to feed and care for their flock every day, then be able to do what needed to be done at dinnertime. I'm not quite to that stage, but I guess deciding to send the boys away to freezer camp (Except Cabot, right, Cari? Breeding pen, right? Right?) is part of the learning curve.
To quote what I said to my support group (D&M):
And yes, I do know that I'm holding them and smiling and I'm thinking, "I love you guys" and they're looking up at my smile and thinking, "Is that food? It's really shiny. Maybe it's a bug."