to waiting until nightfall and picking up the 6 week olds. I love the way they go all soft and relaxed, how you can feel their heartbeats. Their feathers feel like the down on a baby's head, so soft and silky. Am I loosing my mind? My friends laugh at me. Me. I'm usually logical, practical, but darn it, when the sun is unfurling neon ribbons, the backdrop of the sky collecting stars is purple, when the kitchen is squared away, everything else on temporary hold, it feels right to just... stop. Smile as the young ones gripe at having to go up into the top of the coop, but like children, I can almost hear them yawn. Their bodies tell the truth. Tuck them in, and know that this part of chicken rearing will be gone in the blink of an eye. Just like kids. I laugh, listening to them communicate, bicker, look for the right spot to settle down for the night. Wasn't it a few weeks ago when I was watching the first pip? In retrospect, yeah, they are JUST chickens. Compared to my children, there will be no communications over doing homework, cleaning rooms. No requests for borrowing the car or waiting impatiently by the clock on that first date. But...by choice, they are my responsiblity, and whom knew the perks, the connective force right in my face of seeing that one egg holds a promise of discovery which I never knew of when shopping at the grocery store? And who knew that this even changes my prespective of the old question: Which came first, the chicken or the egg?