Feathery, Little Antidepressants

Last week I met up with my friend Lynsie to have lunch for her birthday. Lynsie lives about 40 minutes away, so we’ve developed a tradition of meeting for lunch in the middle. 

It’s like the old Diamond Rio song…

I start driving your way…

You start driving mine…

We meet in the middle…

‘Neath that Chinese food sign…

On the way home from lunch, I had a little bit of time to burn, and then I needed to check Daisy out of school so she could go to the junior high to tryout for the dance team. I have some suet cage bird feeders in my backyard that I wanted to get some new suet bricks for, so I went to IFA to pick some up. 

Every year, the IFA sign, visible from the freeway, reads “Pick up chicks here.” (You are funny, IFA). As I drove past the sign, I thought, “I could get some chicks while Scotty's in Mexico!” 

You see, Scotty wants to be done with chickens when our current ones pass on. I kind of don’t. A few years ago, I was ready to be done with chickens, but then there was a pandemic, and it was hard to find eggs. We live right by an egg farm, and cars would line up for hours to wait for an egg delivery, and the police would have to come direct traffic. With all of the things that were short on supply as the pandemic rolled in, I was incredibly grateful that I could go out in my backyard and get eggs. It made me never want to live without chickens. 

I wasn't really going to get chicks at IFA, but I circled them again and again. “Just looking,” of course. “For informational purposes.”

I ended up with three in a box on my passenger seat. I dunno what happened! But I do know this: a chicken costs less than a carton of eggs right now (darn you, avian flu)!

One by one my kids came home from their various schools and activities and discovered the chicks, which I had put in our living room. They all fell in love. As did I. 

Chicks are magical! And wonderful! And so very special!

I have loved having baby chickens around the house. And I’m just as bad as the kids. I got out an old dollhouse, and I was all…

“Daisy, put the gray one on the couch!”

“Now put one on the toilet and one in the bathtub!”

“Now put one in the house and pretend the other one is coming to visit!”

I also pushed them around the living room in a Barbie car while singing, “They see me rollin’… they hatin’…”

BEST. THING. EVER!!!

And then we all went out for pizza.

I decided to name the chickens after antidepressants - Celexa, Paxil, and Zoloft - because they lifted my mood so much. Then my kids overruled me and named them Princess, Sophie, and Eva (Zoe picked the name Eva, and she doesn't know that her little sister goes by Eva on this blog. So now I have Eva the chicken and Eva the pseudonym).

Scotty wasn't thrilled about the chicks, but I think he has forgiven me. I can sense loving vibes coming out of him as our children shove the babies in his face. I've even caught him hanging out with them in the backyard.