yes, we did.

Yesterday we walked into our local tractor supply store.

It’s one of the few stores in town where it seems perfectly acceptable to bring in your children wretched with filth after a day spent playing outside.

Kevin and I wanted to see what types of chicken supplies the store had and to make a plan for acquiring a few full-grown chickens to begin our attempts at raising chickens once again.

That’s all we were planning to do.  

A research and development expedition if you will.

After entering the store, being surrounded by John Deere products and giant plastic buckets, we heard squeals of delight from our bevy our children.

Uh-oh.

Apparently the tractor supply store carries live chicks.

Who knew?

Surrounded by pleading eyes and irresistibly adorable fluffy chicks, we did what lots of parents do – we looked to the other one for back up for the power to say no.

But Kevin said, “Well.”

And I said, “We already have all the supplies at home.”

And Kevin said, “We weren’t planning to buy chicks.  Just full-grown chickens, remember?”

And London said, “Dad, they are only $1.99.”

And I said, “We don’t even have to buy chicken feed or a feeder or a waterer because we have all of that at home.”

And Kevin said, “Well, they are cute.”

And every other kid with a Keigley last name said, “Pleeeaasssseee.”

And then we walked out of the store with six baby chicks.

Or something like that.

And it should have been simple.

We already had a chicken coop.

Except the chicks were so small that they could escape from our coop.

No problem, we’ll just commandeer Ringo’s dog kennel for a few weeks and they can live in there instead.

Except the chicks are so small they can escape from that as well.

Hmmm.

Nothing is ever as simple as it seems when you’re standing in a tractor supply store caving in to the fluffiness of black and brown chicks.

Enter SuperDad.

A few pallets.

A staple gun.

Chicken wire.

Several hours late into the dark of the evening.

And the coolest chicken coop ever emerges.

A safe house for six chicks who may or may not survive the over-loving of their owners.

(Six chicks who I refrained from naming myself and allowed each child to chose.  Dippy, Simon, Head, Morphie, Theodore and Frightful.  Guess which one Otto named.)

And, when you live at an old farm house, what better place to store your chicken coop castle than the front porch?

Welcome home chicks!