The little chicken loving girl was so excited waiting for the chicken babies to come this year. Grandpa and I promised her as soon as we came home from our spring break trip to Seattle to see her Aunt Betsy, we'd get the baby chickens. Well, 2 year olds don't always understand and she was insistent that we were bringing the babies home with us on the airplane. When we came home, but the baby chickens weren't with us, she was disappointed. I promised they would be here for Sunday, her special day with Grandma and Grandpa.

Saturday morning, we got up early, headed to Marquette, 100 miles away, to get some supplies and baby chickens! Of course, Tractor Supply had to be our last stop so I was giddy with excitement all morning. But when we got there, it wasn't meant to be. There were a few mixed sex babies, and lots of ducks, but nothing I wanted for our babies. I left Tractor Supply with chicken food, a stock tank to keep the babies in, and a downtrodden face. I knew it was a 2 hour drive home, and I wasn't likely to convince Grandpa to give up another couple of hours to drive to the next closest Tractor Supply, but I knew I had to have baby chicks by tomorrow morning, so I called the other store, who assured me that had tons of pullets in stock. I stopped by and picked up Rylie to tag along and off we went to get our babies. She was excited beyond belief, almost as excited as I was. We made our purchase, even stopping to get a pink toy car for the little chicks to play with, and headed home to tuck them into their new home.

Sunday morning, Rylie played with the babies, holding them gently, enjoying their peepings and scamperings. She named one Dog Chicken and agreed to name another Peepers. Grandpa and I were amazed at how much she'd grown up since last year's babies. Then, she'd point to the chicks, "want dat one," pet it quickly, "done" and then point to another, "want dat one", pet it quickly, "done", as many times as we'd pick them up for her. She was afraid to hold them, even in a towel. Their scratchy claws and beaks were just too much for her not quite 2 year old self to handle. Now, at almost 3, she is braver and smarter, asking for the brown striped one or the one that "sits on my hand" and actually holds them, petting them lovingly.

Until the poop incident......

When Mommy came to get her, Rylie excitedly took her to see the new chicks. She proudly showed the babies to her mom, the pink car she'd gotten them to play with, their wood chips, everything about them..... when she was holding a baby, it did the inevitable and pooped on her hand. Suddenly, my little chicken chasin' farm girl FREAKED out. I ran to get a wet washcloth to wash her hand. Her mom swears if she had had a knife, Rylie would have cut her own hand off in the 10 seconds it took me to get back. As we washed her hand off, she settled down until she realized her shirt was covered as well. And of course, it was a pull-over hoodie so getting it off was difficult.

I kept the shirt, scrubbed and soaked it to make sure the pink Carhartt had no remaining remanants of chicken poop, and left it in the front room in the official 'go home with Rylie' spot. When she was here after school Monday, she saw the shirt, cautiously picked it up and asked, "Grandma, did you WASH this?" I assured her I did, but my guess is, that shirt won't be a favorite ever again!