they're heeeeere

babies. 2 weeks and rollin' deep.

if you had asked me, even last year, where i saw myself in twelve months, i can honestly say the answer would not have included anything about providence, rhode island or keeping peeping, shitting baby chickens in a rubbermaid tub on my dining room table. i'd even scoff at ownership of a dining room table. but here we are. 

dan and i drove out this morning to a little poultry farm and rescue in foster, ri. we met up with the owner, jen, a lovely and very knowledgeable chicken breeder, who gave us a tour of the grounds and offered exceptionally helpful pointers as how best to not kill our chickens. then we manhandled the girls into a cardboard box, hopped in the car to a great deal of peeping protests, and were soon sitting at the table, enthralled by the veritable poop machines before us.

right now, they're all wishing they weighed about 200 pounds and had shark teeth

we're not even 12 hours into this endeavor, and we haven't named the little buggers yet, so really, the only information i can offer is:

1. (from left to right) we have a Barred Plymouth Rock, an Ameraucana, a Black Australorp, and a Buff Orpington. The last two were chosen purely because their names are really fun to say. 

2. chicks shit. a lot. 

3. baby Barred Plymouth Rocks and Black Australorps really look like diaper wearing penguins.

other than those three very important facts, i can't really say what having chicks is all about. right now i'm just thinking of names and trying not to kill the poor things. expect updates soon, but for now, if anyone has any advice on names or keeping baby chickens alive, do let me know.