Chicks, Man

With so much focus and debate today about the variety of sexuality (we have our straights; our gays; the straights who actually are gay; our gays for a while and those for life; our transexuals; hermaphrodites and so forth), its tough enough to sex a human. But they say sexing a chicken is the real challenge. There are chapters and pages on the subject instructing one on the scientific methods as well as the old wives tales about how to tell whether you have a hen or a rooster.

Well, I did my research. And after about 6 weeks with our three chicks, it became obvious to me that my tiny egg farm wasn't going to be all too fruitful. Because I was certain that our three baby hens were, indeed, two roosters and one tiny lady. And at that, not just any roosters. A lame rooster, Gimpy Peep, born with clubbed feet; a big throated rooster Baby, or... Goiter Baby... and one little lady, Stripe.

No problem for this co-dependent! My sister tells me as I child I used to purchase the dying plants and animals as our local five & dime, take them home and heal them. I suppose if I hadn't developed into a puny looking allergic asthmatic, I might have reached my aspirations to become a Veteranarian. Alas...

Last week our little brood was attached by a large dog and of course, poor defenseless, lame Peep was the one who got it. Two days later, unable to even scoot, I took her to Chelly, our local vet, who informed me that my rooster would live, and not only that, after one quick glance, that my rooster was a hen. So it turns out we have one lame hen, one healthy hen, and Goiter Baby as their big date!