MEGAN PRINGLE UPDATE

You’re never going to guess who requested my friendship on Facebook!!!!

Les Wexner!~!!!

OK, I’m kidding. 

IT WAS MEGAN PRINGLE.

The same MEGAN PRINGLE who commented on my blog, I’ll have you know.

I accepted, of course. It looks like she’s engaged and living in Boston. I’ll update you with details as I know more.

 Life is starting to look up.

Except for our chickens.

Last night we put a heat lamp up in their little hideout for the evening. All farmers know that as long as you keep them out of the wind, chickens are hardy creatures, but if it drops below zero — their little combs and waddles start to freeze.

He used to be so pretty. Darn you Canada!!!

He used to be so pretty. Darn you Canada!!!

This morning we went out to check on them and … poor Balls (known in some circles as Mary Ann Krauss.)

As the only male in the ensemble, Balls has the largest comb and the most dangley waddle. He also has the smallest brain. While the rest of the hens were sitting comfortably within the warmth of the heat lamp, Balls was sitting so close that he singed off all his feathers. On both sides! And to add insult in injury, everything attached to his face was blue and frozen solid.

Poor Balls. He was trying to get close to the heat … but he did it in all the wrong ways.

So Balls was looking a little pitiful this morning and my heart broke for him. It must have been awful for the little guy. So I took him in the bathroom and turned up the space heater and sat with my hands on his frozen waddles until he thawed completely. It was a pretty remarkable moment because normally he bites and kicks when Maybel or I get anywhere near him. He loves Seth, but he normally would prefer to fight me. He must have been in a bad way.

I rubbed Vasoline and Neosporin on his poor extremities. He used to be such a pretty bird. But I’m afriad his georgous red comb may either be permanently purple, or they might shrivel up and fall off die to frostbite.

Tonight, in order to prevent further tragedy, we have moved all the chickens into the basement. If you’re not familiar with the layout of our home, the stairs to the basement open up inside our bathroom. The roosters have all nestled down for the night at the top of the stairs. It’s a whole new experience to hear a rooster crow five feet from you while you are in the shower. It’s even weirder to have a chicken’s eye peer in at you from the crack in the door while you are on the potty.

I’m flashing back to earlier in the day when a dear friend said, “I don’t understand your life.”

This anecdote will not help my relatability.

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  • Shelby

    Please tell more stories about Balls. I thoroughly enjoy them. No joke.

  • megan

    Always, ALWAYS rub vasoline on your cock.

    I’m sorry. Please feel free to delete this comment.

  • theteet

    will do my bestest, dear shelby. :)

    as for you, miss megan …

    but what of his frozen, dangley waddles?!

    i cannot believe i did not think of this already. for shame. i’m off my game.

  • http://dont-call-me-ishmael.blogspot.com/ Bill Melville

    So does Balls … ahem, Mary Ann Krauss, wear the hen’s feather and try to hide his/her mannish features?

  • jessi

    No, no – rub the vaseline on your BALLS.

    This blog is the best way to start my work week.

  • colleen

    i laughed… a lot. i am tempted to show my dad, but i fear that it will only make him love “lyndsey and seth” more than anyone can handle. beautiful.