My grandparents were chicken farmers. When I found their marriage license, I was delighted to see that my grandpa’s listed occupation was Poultryman. (Yes. Capital P.)
Dean likes to say I “come from chicken.”
Naturally, I’ve been trying to convince him that this means we should have chickens. We’ve got the space, I have the ancestral claim, and… well, we all know about The Price of Eggs these days, right?
So far, I’ve made exactly zero progress.
This morning, I was in my office, looked out the window… and saw this:
Okay, yes – I stepped outside to take the photo. But still.
Is the universe trying to tell us something?
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