A Day in the Life of Satan’s Spawn

As most of you know, I have a thing about birds. Not a ‘gee I don’t like them much’ thing, but a ’Shall I faint or throw up first?’ thing. When my husband decided to raise chickens, you can imagine my joy. Before you read further, I suggest you read the backstory. It’ll give you much more insight into what I’m about to say. Go ahead, I’ll wait right here. <starts humming the theme song from Jeopardy>

Now that we’re all up to speed, let me just say that the Devil’s Fluffy Minions have been here for three days while my husband’s been out of town on business. He. Owes. Me. They are living in my bedroom where I cannot see them or hear them peep. I’ve locked the door and keep a stun gun on my person and a 2×4 in the hallway in case they gnaw their way out. The kids go in and out with food and water, and so far they’ve come out alive.

Here we have Satan’s Spawn pretending to be gentle critters doing normal critter things. But we know better, don’t we. They’re plotting, I can feel it.

This is their temporary holding cell until my husband (who owes me more than he can possibly imagine by this point. I’m talking Mercedes…or at least a damn fine Slurpee) …until my husband puts up the triple layer of chicken fencing and razor wire he promised. And maybe field mines. Yeah, a couple of claymores would would be good, too.

We live in a small house. Our bedroom is the only place they’re safe from both cat and kids. Unfortunately our bedroom is small. Note the proximity of these evil beasts to our bed:

 

MmmmmHmmmm.  I’ve been sleeping on the couch. There is NO WAY those peeping bastards are coming near me while I sleep. Oh look, they’re practicing the ‘Smother Kelly’ position now.

Our kids have fallen under an evil chicken spell. They have no idea the danger they’re in. They pick up those squishy winged rats and love every second of it. <boogety!> “Wash your hands!” I yell across the room, “Scrub up to your armpits with soap! In fact, just take a whole shower–climb in with your clothes on and don’t come out until half that bottle of body wash is gone!”

 My husband so OWES me for this!