- Apr 15, 2008
- 428
- 3
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It is 10:32 PM. I have just spent the last three hours, balancing on a saw horse, head nestled against a bunch of cobwebs, sweat dripping into my eyes, arms shaking from the weight of the drill, trying to screw the hardware cloth onto the walls of the barn stall which will be my layer coop. I drop every other teeny weeny screw, and am quite certian I explored the creative use of every known curse word in the process. My hands and legs have cuts all over from the hardware cloth (two last week required stitches, but I waited more than 24 hours to go in as I was NOT paying another ER visit, so I now have two side by side gaping ouchies on my forearm that will leave a big scar.) I have a huge sliver in my palm from smacking a 2 x 4 into place. I smell really, really bad. I am going deeper into debt every day over this chicken madness that has stricken me. And I just calculated that I need 10 more 8 foot 2 x 4's and another roll of hardware cloth to finish THIS pen (never mind the others I have to do yet!)
All of this, and yet I cant seem to stop.
Now, when I should be showering, or even sleeping, like normal people, I am instead posting on BYC. The one place where I know there enough chicken addicts to make me feel I am not quite so unbalanced...right?
All of this, and yet I cant seem to stop.
Now, when I should be showering, or even sleeping, like normal people, I am instead posting on BYC. The one place where I know there enough chicken addicts to make me feel I am not quite so unbalanced...right?

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