So I got to thinking about how I had thought I was so smart "sexing" these chickens at the little backyard homestead that I received them from. I thought I had learned everything I needed to know about chicken sexing from Mike Rowe. How hard could it be?
Well, it is. Hard that is. Although at the time I made it look easy, I realize now that all I was doing was looking a little too close at a chicks poop chute.
And what got me thinking about my habit of playing god, was my first read of the day from my friend over at the Superfantaboulous Blog, which I read every chance I get. Something she said struck a note in me: " . . .I was forced to come to the realization that I don't have to completely, continuously control the universe with my iron fist of in-human stubbornness."
That about says it all. I will suffer through my cockerel/rooster every morning this summer at around 5:23 am. Me, in my martyrdom will not even think about taping his little beak shut when he does his thing. Then, next spring or whenever, I will have some baby chicks (maybe, still thinking about that).
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