The Chickens

My life has no D.R.A.M.A.
Thank God.

 I am approximately 18 days into my summer vacation and I am B.O.R.E.D. out of my G.O.U.R.D.
Thank God.
I would much rather be bored than have drama.  Hands down.

My day consists of
wakening, letting out the chickens, and going back to bed. 
Re-awakening,  checking my facebook and email, and having a little Shredded Wheat with my sugar. 
Yes, I eat Shredded Wheat.  And Raisin Bran.  And Grape Nuts.
I’m old, okay.

Occasionally, I’ll walk the drive-way a few times for exercise, catch up on DVR’d Beth Moore episodes, and perhaps kill a snake.  Okay.  Once.  That just happened once.
But it’s not as if it couldn’t happen again.

This sneaky snake was in my yard, with a friend I might add, just the other day.  You have to look closely.  He’s got the camo thing going on.  And ignore the broken flowerpot growing a weed, it’s not really marijuana, it just looks like it.  Just moments before this picture was snapped, I was standing at the tail, right there on the sidewalk, just hanging out.  I nearly peed down both legs.

Back to my day:

I don’t put on make-up or fix my hair.
I dig through laundry piles to find my cleanest, dirty shirt (name that song).
I swat flies and eat popsicle.
Then I lay down again and sleep the afternoon away until my husband’s diesel rouses me and I must scurry about as if I’ve been busy all day long.  Which it doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure out I haven’t.  With the piles of laundry and popsicle wrappers lying around.

That’s it.  That’s my day, every day, in a nut shell.

The highlight of which is walking to the mailbox every evening and being utterly disappointed that no one has sent me a handwritten letter.  The last letter I received was postmarked 1995.

And since my life is shrouded in a cloud of laziness and patheticism, I have nothing to offer you today (as if I do any other day) than a Chicken Update.

The chickens are 3 months and 2 days old and the ones who survived the box are still surviving.  All fourteen of the little boogers.

None have been carried off in a chicken hawk’s beak or swallowed whole by a serpent.

However, this one just spun her head around, sorry you missed it.

They all still love me very much, but only because I feed them overripe bananas and moldy bread.

Occasionally I get pecked, but it doesn’t hurt and they quit after I give them a  swift kick in the butt.  A swift and gentle kick in the butt.

Risking losing all of your respect right here and now, I must confess, I no longer know which one is Freedom.
I used to identify her by her head markings, then they changed, so I noticed 2 stripes on her tail, then they changed, then I could identify her by a jagged tail feather, then it must’ve fallen out.  She is now unrecognizable, even to her mama.  Please don’t weep. 

They won’t start laying eggs until they are 5-6 months old.  Which will put us around Aug-Sept. 

These two are already looking for the monster that laid this one.

So, how about you and your summer?  What have you done?  Are you bored yet?  What’s your favorite color popsicle? What is today, anyway?