How did it suddenly become March?
I guess this is what happens when weekdays are spent in meetings, weekends on ridiculously long bike rides (I've already hit the 57-mile mark) and mornings helping chickens masturbate.
Yes, you read that correctly. And yes, this is probably something I should not admit to the entire world, especially via the Interwebs. (To everyone I know or will end up knowing at some point in my life: I'm normal. I swear.)
The whole thing started when I noticed McNugget would squat down and push up her elbows (do chickens have elbows?) every time I walked next to her. I thought this meant she wanted to be picked up, so I would carry her around while I refreshed the feeding troughs, worked in the garden, etc. (In case you are wondering, this was awkward. And I was constantly scared she was going to poop on me.) But then I told a friend's mom (who is my chicken guru) about McNugget's behavior.
The chicken guru conclusion: McNugget thinks I'm a rooster (maybe it's the awesome blue rubber boots I wear to work in the chicken yard?), and I should "tickle her under her wings and see what happens."
So I did.
And that chicken's ass swiveled up into the air faster than you could say "Sexual healing."
One more skill I can add to my resume.