I build a house

I learned pretty much everything I know about building stuff and assembling stuff from Dad:

1. Instructions and plans are for losers.
2. See number one.

Thus armed, I set out for the hardware store to buy supplies for my new, improved, larger chick brooder. The chicks made their first home in a galvanized wash tub, which was fine for a while. I could tell they were outgrowing it when the chickfights broke out. Which, by the way, look suspiciously like cockfights, but I will reserve judgement on that since I don't know nothin bout sexing no chicks.

I practiced my usual method of planning a new building project, which is to wander up and down the aisles of the hardware store, touching this and that, until the clerks decide that I am either an insane old lady or a terrorist casing the joint for a later assault, and start trailing behind me, asking "Can I help you there?" "Doin' OK there?" "Finding everything?" and finally "Please don't kill me, I have dependents."

Finally, I circle closer and closer to my target, in this case, the lumber department. By now, of course, I have filled my shopping cart with random bits of "things I need" meaning "things I saw that were shiny or colorful and attracted my attention leading me to believe I need them." Also by now, though, I had my house plans firmly in mind. Besides which, I needed to leave the store quickly, before the SWAT team arrived.

The girls seem to enjoy their larger quarters. Little do they know that come Friday, they will be sharing space with new, younger, possibly cuter chicks.

Oh, the feathers are going to fly.