I used to be a compulsive editor but these days I'm deliberately focussing on message instead of typos because I read a lot of other people's writing and if I start editing my time evaporates. So I'm teaching myself to be more relaxed when reading and that extends to forgiving myself if I make a typo (especially considering my eyesight). But sometimes I slip back into my old habit of trying to be perfect on the page/screen.
Thank you, it was a lovely eveningGood evening MJhope you have a relaxing evening
My colleague's children cooked a special dinner for us, so I was very spoiled! Two different pasta bakes with a lettuce and carrot (and nothing else) salad. What the evening lacked in culinary delights, it more than made up for in sheer cuteness.
Loved your story, children are free to be innocent and believe that they can change the world -one chicken at a timeInspired by @BY Bob, how I came to love chickens
My story is not as interestimg as his and I could sum it up in one sentence: "Dad kept leghorns in the backyard when we were kids" but there are some funny stories too so...
They didn't have names but that didn't stop me interacting with them. We got the chickens when I was 3 and they'd all passed by the time I was 8.
One of the characters in a book I'd read could hypnotise chickens, so one day I got one of mum's shiny necklaces and went outside to swing it in front of a chicken, saying "You are feeling sleeepy, very sleeeepy" until Dad came out and said, that's not going to work, love. Didn't stop me trying over and over. I'm pretty sure one of the chickens thought she was hypnotising me instead, and you know what? Maybe she was, maybe she was.
Another time, I discovered that if I poked a blade of grass through the wire of the coop, they'd eat it! Fun!! So that kept me amused for a year or so. They also liked it when I picked and opened almonds for them.
Another time Dad enlisted my brother and I in helping him catch the chickens so there wings could be clipped, which sounded horrific! But father must be obeyed unless he shouts, so we stood out there in the backyard, one kid on each end of an upside down laundry basket, waiting patiently while Dad herded the chickens between us so we could drop the basket and catch the chicken! Except I had other plans and was too slow on purpose, saying "sorry Dad, sorry." Next day, out at the coop, poking blades of grass through, tears in my eyes, saying, "Never you mind Chickens, you've still got your wings and I will protect you." Looking back on it now, I realise Dad's chicken entrapment scheme was doomed to fail from the get go. They were fast and flighty those leghorns, but even a slow mover will be quicker than a pair of anklebiters on a laundry basket.
So these chickeny shenanigans endeared them to me. These old memories are so special, it's no wonder I took about five minutes to decide on chickens once I had a backyard that was my own
Chicken love runs deep
