I told myself this year that I would not use my incubator after my last hatch in September because when I hatched out chicks as late as November last year, I had issues with them getting sick from the cold. I assured myself that any chicks I got in September would be big enough to withstand the nasty weather we get in the months of Dec. - Feb. outside. So far, this has proven true. None of them outside right now are so young as to have issues with the weather.
In the past two weeks, I've started feeling the itch to fire up the 'bator again. This is not a good sign. I had already gone through withdrawals, and thought I was cured. I passed by it and thought about putting it out of sight so maybe I would forget about it.
This was not to be. I blame it all on Jen and her beautiful Silkies. Beware, she's an enabler.
So now, unbeknown to my husband, there are Silkie eggs about to be put in the mail with my name on them. When they arrive, he will roll his eyes, sigh a heavy sigh, and ask God what he did to deserve a chicken crazy wife who can't leave well enough alone. Then he will tell me to sell some chickens so I can buy feed. He will tell me that I am obsessed and that I need to exercise control over my compulsions. I shall look at him with pity for his lack of understanding and laugh -- ha ha -- derisively. He has no understanding of the mind of a hatchaholic. He does not understand the need to check the humidity every few hours, or what it means to listen subconsciously for the click of the egg turner, or the nearly silent whisper of the circulation fan. He has no comprehension of how critical it is to watch the thermometer. He lives a chickless existence in a shelless universe. He so does not get he's missing out.
Whatever.
I shall have chicks!!
In the past two weeks, I've started feeling the itch to fire up the 'bator again. This is not a good sign. I had already gone through withdrawals, and thought I was cured. I passed by it and thought about putting it out of sight so maybe I would forget about it.
This was not to be. I blame it all on Jen and her beautiful Silkies. Beware, she's an enabler.
So now, unbeknown to my husband, there are Silkie eggs about to be put in the mail with my name on them. When they arrive, he will roll his eyes, sigh a heavy sigh, and ask God what he did to deserve a chicken crazy wife who can't leave well enough alone. Then he will tell me to sell some chickens so I can buy feed. He will tell me that I am obsessed and that I need to exercise control over my compulsions. I shall look at him with pity for his lack of understanding and laugh -- ha ha -- derisively. He has no understanding of the mind of a hatchaholic. He does not understand the need to check the humidity every few hours, or what it means to listen subconsciously for the click of the egg turner, or the nearly silent whisper of the circulation fan. He has no comprehension of how critical it is to watch the thermometer. He lives a chickless existence in a shelless universe. He so does not get he's missing out.
Whatever.
I shall have chicks!!
