Chicks...a lesson in survival

We brought home 9 baby chicks on Friday...and have lost a chick a day since. I'd heard plenty about the high rate of chick mortality but assumed that with extensive research and a fastidiously clean brooder I'd beat the odds and take all 9 chicks to maturity. My first weekend of homesteading has been eye-opening to say the least.

This year, we are starting our flock with Buff Orpingtons, Black Australorps, and Ameraucanas. These little fluff balls steal your heart - Jude wanted to name them everything from Cutie Cutest to Cutie Fluffy Cheeks. In an effort to combine our pet-based love of animals with a farm-based mentality I decided to name by breed and all of the girls would have the same name. Forever. So the names were important!

Jude named the Orps Sunshine, which I love. The Australorps are Sadies and, after I revoked my husband's naming rights, the Ameraucanas went from Ligers to Ellas.

Sunshine

Sadie

Ella

(This particular Ella asserted her right to top of the pecking order by pecking each of her sisters in the eye the moment they were introduced to the brood box. She's got some moxy.)

Our first loss was an Ella. One moment she was fine, and an hour later we had a dead chick. Jude and I both cried. After reading a million chicken postings online, I think she had fowl pox as her eyes and nostrils were wet.

I couldn't stand the thought of throwing her away, so I placed this little Ella, still warm and limp, out on the property so that she could feed the earth like nature intended. It also made it much easier to comfort Jude by explaining how Ella would turn to dirt and then become a pine tree. In all honesty, it comforted me as well.

On Sunday one of the Sunshines was lethargic and wouldn't stand. Chicks sleep in tight little balls, whether standing or lying down, and this Sunshine was splayed out and unresponsive. Her breathing was also labored and her nostrils were wet as well. With supportive care, chicks with fowl pox have a 50% mortality rate. I separated her into a small box within the brooder that kept her close with her sisters but didn't allow anyone to touch. Even though I gave her water and hand fed her, she succumbed at the end of the day. This little Sunshine will also become a pine tree.

And then this morning, in order to even out the numbers, one of the Sadies went the way of the pine for no apparent reason at all. Strange how quickly I've moved from devastation to acceptance of nature's seemingly cruel way of ensuring species survival by culling the flock.

Also surprising is the speed with which my sadness in the face of death has turned to the practical worries of starting off with such a small flock that egg production will be lower than our family needs. As adorable as these cutie fluffy cheeks may be, their primary purpose is feeding our family. We'll be returning to the country feed store this weekend to replenish our numbers in the hope that a slightly larger chick count of 12 will increase the odds of a full flock of adult hens.

The moral of the story? No amount of preparation or hubris can cheat death. Thank you chickens, givers of eggs, life lessons, and pine trees.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda

I had a professor in college who wanted to eradicate the word "very" from the English language. His reasoning? If a writer had to resort to using it, then their adjective wasn't strong enough and they needed to pick another one. He was very smart.

I would also like to kill off a word. Not an obvious one, like "moist" or the love-to-hate-it "panties." The word on my chopping block is much more fraught with the poisonous nuances of guilt and shame. It's a word that I hope to erase from my vocabulary in order to lift a shroud from my life and protect my children from its dark and foreboding presence. So who gets voted off the island, sent to swim with the fishes, goes down for the big sleep?

Should.

I hate it.

Is there anything more crippling to the present moment than niggling thoughts of what you should be doing? Reading a novel when you should be starting your taxes. Checking in on Facebook when you should be writing a grant proposal. Going to a movie when you should be seeing live theatre. Eating a brownie when vegetables should be on the menu.

And the constant running list. The shoulds that always live in the background. I should:
do yoga
take the kids to the library
learn Spanish
make a grocery list
hang the pictures stacked in the closet
answer that email I've been avoiding
get a haircut
fold the laundry
sweep
buy a broom
replace batteries in all the dead toys
make a Goodwill drop
create a filing system to help out next year's taxes...

In reality, there is no such thing as a should. It is a bogus construct designed to instill unrest. Nothing is ever good enough when there is something more that should be done. Well, fuck you should. I declare you null and void.

And really, outside of this random rant, there is no such thing as a should. There is doing, and not doing. So how to kick should to the curb? Time for an action plan.

1. Question the reasoning behind the should.
Why should or shouldn't I be doing something? Outside of this moment, does anyone besides me care about the implied morality of what I am doing? Sometimes all it takes to release an old idea is to face it head on. So screw you, Nancy Reagan, I didn't always say "No" and I turned out just fine. 

2. Drop the guilty implications of should.
What is the point of "I shouldn't be doing this?" Whether it's polishing off a box of cookies or robbing a bank, either stop the action or at the very least don't ruin it by adding shame. Savor those cookies. Steal those dollars. Be in the moment. Then go for a walk or split the take with a favorite charity. 

3. Break the habit of should.
Sometimes I think I use a should for no good reason other than making myself unhappy. Not on purpose, just as a lazy form of ennui. Case in point, everyone's favorite "I should exercise more." This is not an action item, this is a way to feel less than while still watching TV. Which is lame. Let my jeans chastise me by being too tight if they must, I don't need to add insult to injury. I'm back to the idea of "do it, or don't." Exercise, or don't. Thinking on the should of the matter results in a whopping nothing. And some of the shoulds are even more mundane. Alone, "I should start packing for my trip" may not be that big of a deal, but left unchecked it can multiply into a giant list of actions that a better person would be taking while crappy ol' me just plugs along. Enough! If a giant fist punched me in the face every time I said "should," I'd stop saying it pretty quickly. I'm smart like that. Time to extend that same self-preservation skill to my general happiness and sense of worth. 

4. When saying or thinking the dreaded should, take a moment to reset.
If I "should" be sending an overdue birthday card, am I able to stop what I am doing and crank out the card? If yes, do it and move on. If no, either decide not to send a card and live with that, or decide to send the card as soon as I am able and return to the task at hand.

5. Let the "should cycle" die by not using it with my kids.
It's pretty easy to rework a "You should share with your brother," into "If you don't feel like sharing then you can go to your room and play by yourself for a while. But if you'd like to play together I'd love to have you stay here with us. Your choice." No guilt. Lesson imparted. Child retains a small sense of control and dignity.

Man, I should have made this list years ago!