3 Lovely Chics and A Hot spring

3 Lovely Chics and A Hot spring

Mammoth HotSprings - March 2013

How do people have time to blog?  Right now the only reason I do is because my children are in the care of a police officer giving me the break I finally needed to do something really important like make my life sound larger than on our blog.

We haven’t submitted to the blog in a while.  Since our last post we have moved into a new home, added 1 roomate (Jon, our resident cappuccino king, who placed 2^nd in the National Barista competition 2003, and wakes me up with an espresso drink to order every morning) and 2 part time roommates (his daughters, ages 7 and 5).

Visitors

We finally made it to Yellowstone National Park this March for the first time with Barb and Rea.  For those of you who know how much my Mom loves driving in the snow, we definitely needed to relax in the hotsprings after driving up 2000 ft of icy mountain roads to the Yellowstone Plateau.

 

 

Rea proves that sledding is not just child's play.  He plans on starring in a movie called "Springbreak - Profs gone Wild"

 

Sean and Zoe came later the same week.  Typical of Montana spring, we were able to sled in the snow when they arrived and hang out in T-shirts by the time they left.

 

B hitting some hot-chocolate after a hard day on the slopes

 

Sean sporting his man-scaping, Sarah with her prego-pooch just starting to show, and what we believe is a moment of Zoe attempting to intimidate another hiker with her Papuan-gang signs.  As Zoe narrows down her college selection, we are still hoping to make the winners bracket having now convinced Zoe that Missoula is the tropical paradise of the Pacifac Northwest and fairly earns its title of "Montana's Banana Belt".  Its the warmest place for at least a 50 mile radius.

 

 

And as of today we took the plunge and decided to commit.

 Having committed to:

-  raising a dog – average commitment – 10 yrs

-          2 children, and 1 on the way (due September 3^rd)  – we’d love to say 18, but are afraid that with our ample living space they may never leave 

-          Home ownership – two times over, and in this market of slow moving real estate, the commitment time is somewhere between a dog and raising children 

-          Marriage – till death do us part; which may be sooner on somedays if you ask Sarah about the effect of taking care of the 3 boys in the family. 

You may be wondering what exactly our newest commitment.

 We now have 3 lovely chics that have moved in.  I’m talking girls that look great in feather boas, one of them may be x-dressing as a girl (we could find out it is a total cock later), and they all know how to lay one.  They are constantly chattering and they poop in a cardboard box.


General Tso is a barred-rock and hopes to look like this one day



 

 The other two are Red-star Hens and hope to look like this

We have named them “Thomas” (name courtesy of “T”) – we convinced him not to name her after himself in case we had to cull her, “Big Bird” (name courtesy of “B”), and "General Tso"

That’s right – if you didn’t already guess it, we have committed to the world of urban chicken farming. 

The decision was easy, after having already announced it to several friends; it was too late to back out even after reading horror stories of having to digitally help remove an impacted egg stuck somewhere in the all-in-one hole from which the chicken gifts the universe with guano and eggs.  Besides, our friend, Officer Diener, a Baltimore City cop was visiting and we had to do something “Montanan” to convince him that life under the powder-covered mountains of the Big Sky is just as Bad-A as living by powder-dusted noses in Baltimore riding the Big High.

 

Our first attempts to convince Ryan of this didn't quite hurdle his intensity bar:  we force-hiked him up Mt Sentinel with 30 pounds of snoring 'B' on his back and tried to get him trampled by Bison.

 

 

Our adventure began yesterday at the local Ranch supply store.  I was pretty much the only guy in there with a belt buckle smaller than a dinner plate and who didn’t know the difference between a "pullet" and "straight run" chicken.  I found the stores chicken dude, and a few minutes later, Scott had told me everything I needed to know about chickens.  “You need a heat-lamp, some water, some feed and a place to put ‘em”.

I asked for the unabridged version, figuring I needed to know a little bit more as Sarah has informed me that the chickens are strictly my project (she draws her limit at cleaning up two different kinds of poo) - so I said “Is there anything else I need to know?” 

Scott, realizing that I was not a Cliff-notes kind of a guy, gave me the answer I was looking for, “Nope”. 

Now I know what you're thinking, "Surely, you must pass a test and get a permit before they let an urban-moron raise fowl in the city?" 

You'd be right, about the permit part.  So, this morning I went to city hall to get my chicken permit. While I was waiting in the line labeled “Stupid-City-Folk who have romanticized notions of Rural living and watch 'Portlandia'”, I ran into Missoula's Mayor (in all sincerity, a great guy).  And with a naïve grin, proudly said, “Hey Mayor I’m getting my chicken permit”.  John replied, “Free eggs, calories, and cholesterol – what's not to like?". 

I’m not really sure about the answer to his question– I imagine there are a number of things that I will not like about being a chicken farmer; but I’m hoping that having Tuesday be Flan and Custard night won’t be one of them. 

 

Yellowstone