Well, tonight I'm coming to you live from Noah's Ark.
I am not kidding. My laundry room is flooded and there are three chickens in my garage.
Let me back up.
From the beginning of time, Matt has been talking about how he wants to get some chickens to raise in the backyard for a hobby and eggs. My long-standing counter argument was that we don't really eat eggs, but several months ago he launched a strong chicken campaign and started eating egg salad for lunch and making me eggs for breakfast on the weekends. He has not let up on his egg consumption for MONTHS.
In addition to eating eggs like crazy, he's been researching backyard chickens and even has a few books. Last Saturday we went to a party at his aunt and uncle's house, and they just so happen to have some chickens.
And on Wednesday I was driving to Moyer's Hatchery to pick up our very own chicks. They are the prestigious (sarcasm) breed known as Brown Egg Layers and cost a whopping $2.70 a piece. I know an elephant at any price isn't a bargain, but I'd say a Brown Egg Layer for two bucks MOST CERTAINLY IS.
Since the chicks were only going to be one day old, I brought a nice basket, a towel, and some hand warmers to keep the delicate little things toasty warm on the drive home. And then I walked into Moyer's Hatchery and was handed a brown paper bag with three chickens inside and sent on my way.
Either I'm high maintenance or this was going to be easier than I thought.
Once I got home I got the chickens all set up in their bed, or if you want to use the technical farm term, their "brooder." Which is actually a bright pink Rubbermaid container. They settled right in and mostly cheep and eat and sleep, but they seem happy, as far as chickens go.
We cleaned out their bed on Saturday and put them in a cardboard box temporarily. I stayed in the garage with them and made sure they didn't fly away while Matt washed out their food and water dishes.
And then on Sunday evening I ran a load of laundry, and when I went to switch it to the dryer I walked into a pond of water on the laundry room floor.
Matt immediately jumped to the worst conclusion, and while he fiddled with hoses and pipes and started hypothetically comparing repair costs versus buying a new washer, I stood off to the side by the wash tub sharing positive sentiments like "It could be worse! It doesn't seem to be leaking ALL the time!" and "Hey, at least I got that last load of undies done!"
And it was then that I noticed that the drain of the wash tub was filled which pine shavings from the chickens' bed, and that the newspaper that was wrapped around the red maple tree sapling that has taken up residence in our washtub (don't ask) was completely soaked, leading me to believe that the pine shavings clogged the drain, causing the wash tub to fill up and overflow when the washing machine drained into it.
I ran my hypothesis past repairman Matt, and we did a little test run, and that's exactly what happened.
Luckily it was an easy fix, and I've done two more loads since Sunday with no problems, but I'm here to tell you I won't be sad when the chickens graduate to their outdoor coop.
When I was at Penn State, there was an upperclassman called "The Chicken Man" who wore a chicken costume every day. He'd walk around campus and into classes with his pet chicken named Henderson and leave an egg for the professor, all without saying a word.
It was totally bizarre but he was famous on campus until he unfortunately received a disorderly conduct citation for bringing a farm animal into an academic building, and had to retire the Chicken Man persona.
But now it's like I have my very own chicken man.
Now I just need an ark.