Conflicted

I hired out the last of the exterior paint job on the honey barn. This wave of remodeling is done. While GS and I picked up the last gallon of paint, he talked me into buying 6 Bantam chicks. At 5 years old, he is not really old enough to remember helping me raise my last brood of feather babies, but he remembers the chickens and is nearly frantic for a reinforcement of that vague toddler memory of tending a brood while baby sister watched in awe from her blanket. My call to the River Region remains intense enough that I am reluctant to take on the burden of livestock, but. . . Ah, that old grand magic. . . 

The purchase was not quite impulse. Both GKs asked after Raptor as soon as they noticed her corner was empty. GS's campaign to get chicks began in that very dialog on their first night here. GD was terrified of the very notion of such an alien encounter. It is possible that her fear motivated the decision far more than GS's eagerness. Afraid of chicks? You have spent entirely to much of your life in the concrete jungles, my love. Let's go find a spider to play with.

My fear of entrapment pecked with increasing intensity as GS and I set up Raptor's cage to receive the small brood and cackled to a roar as I watched the enchanted children unravel the mystery of the feather babies. Even Bully Rooster's old feather pelt which had frightened them earlier that day became a friendly hand puppet as they made the connections between the fluffy little puff balls hopping around the cage and the chickens to come. With a sigh, I noted that they were even further than their grandfather and middle aged parents from understanding the care that goes into that growth, maintainance and harvesting. Mom's got it. It must be nothing worthy of note, much less assistance. The end that last brood's life brought me to more than one round of tears which my grown-up loved ones held as more proof that I am as neurotic as any Toxic Mom in the Toxic People Landfill. Yes, Dears. The beaten crazy bitch wolf isnae going to argue that point, nay even with the non-toxic Judges who call her, "Mom."

Are the obligations of ownership even greater than the fear of entrapment. I did *buy* that river base camp. It sits in the county courthouse as a private residence with all the community responsibilities attached. Has it really been few days over a year since I left there, greatly humbled by the Breach of Contract on my aeroeponics lab and rooftop garden?

Processing. . .

For now, both the chicks and GKs are chirping. The day calls. . . So far my internal conflict hasnae bubbled over to them. Hubby has been calm and gentle in his listening. Stepping small and letting God lead the dance.