There is a chicken in my bra

I had the wonderful opportunity to grow up on a hobby farm. As a child I had my own horse and the barn was full of donkeys, goats, chickens, rabbits, sheep, ducks, a lama, a couple cows and I'm sure many more critters that I have forgotten about. We used to say that if it was legal for my Mother to buy it, it lived on our farm.

Which is why I am currently typing with a chicken in my bra.

Four years ago at a petting zoo one of my darling children looked up at me and said "Mom is that a goat or a deer?"
What happened in my head at that moment was a bit like a submarine sinking scene in a movie. Flashing red lights and horns were saying WARNING. WARNING. YOU ARE FAILING AS A PARENT. You are raising THAT CHILD.
That child was the kid that would come to our farm to visit and would run and cry when a bunny hopped in his direction. Even though I am aware that I am messing my kids up somehow, there was no way I was raising that child.

Which is why I am currently typing with a chicken in my bra.

I set about to right this wrong by creating our own little farm environment by getting a dozen chickens. Living on a single acre on the edge of town and wanting to stay married, this seemed like the best option. That was three years ago. The chicken adventures were many and our flock of 12 dwindled to three geriatric old hens.

 Which is why I am currently typing with a chicken in my bra.

The plan was to get 12 new eggs and an incubator to restock our little flock. But I made the grave mistake of taking the children with me to the farm to pick them up.
So far we've hatched 24 chickens and a duck.

 Which is why I am currently typing with a chicken in my bra.

24 chickens and 1 odd duck live in a box in my office, safe from the dog. All but one hatched themselves in regular bird fashion. The one we call Miracle didn't. She pipped her hole in the shell, then struggled for 24 hours to make any further progress. I googled. I helped. I shouldn't have.

Which is why I am currently typing with a chicken in my bra.

Miracle is tiny, half the size of the rest of the chicks. We didn't think she'd live past the first day. Which is how she found her name. As in "It will be a miracle if this one lives". The amazing part is that even though she is tiny, she is LOUD. She never shuts up unless someone is holding her. I think now Miracle is more a reflection on the fact that no one has wrung her little neck.

I have work to do today in the office I share with 23 chicks, a duck and the worlds loudest miracle chicken. I don't possess a chicken bjorn.

Which is why I am currently typing with a chicken in my bra.