I’ve gone and put too much time into a new client acquisition only to have the potential new client go incommunicado on me, which always torques my nads even after being careful to provide no value before there’s committed money. So now I guess it’s time to win that Mega Millions jackpot so the next time the guy calls I can tell him I’ve retired.
What would we do with about $225 million? The first thing would be to set ourselves up so we don’t need most of it because our homestead will be established and most of what we need would come from it. That was our original shared dream way back when, the one my parents stole from us twice, and with a bunch of extra money we could expand (perhaps dramatically) upon the original idea of growing enough extra to be able to help those in need. I’ve got some vague ideas floating around in my head, which is a pretty normal state for me anyway. I’m really good at vague ideas. This one involves getting fresh, organic produce to folks who otherwise have to rely upon the crap that most food banks have to offer, and finding like-minded others in other parts of the country to do something similar. It also involves showing people how to grow their own in whatever patches of dirt they can use, and in containers.
Because Amethyst was at work and the cat was napping, I got away with doing a little of what I too generously refer to as thinking the other day, which is generally not a good thing for me to be doing. Fortunately no harm came of it, so I told Amethyst about it after getting her home from work. And she agreed with me! So instead of Buff Orpingtons we’re going to get some Rhode Island Reds in Spring. They’ll actually serve our purposes better, as they lay Extra Large to Jumbo eggs and more of them. With 15 layers we can expect an average of 75 eggs per week which will leave us six dozen to sell, which should cover our chicken expenses.
I’ve always had a soft spot for Rhodies, and was once friends with a Rhode Island Red rooster whose name, of course, was Red. He was perhaps the most indomitable chicken who ever lived. My maternal grandmother (who was a vegetarian misandrous animal rights activist and founder of her local SPCA shelter) rescued Red and some other RIR’s after rampaging dogs had got hold of them. Half of Red’s back was eaten off, but he managed to survive. Then my idiot drunk uncle (qualifications that don’t eliminate even half of my uncles) broke Red’s leg when he caught him by snatching at him. I could never quite figure out if that particular drunken idiot uncle was tough on animals because he was secretly afraid of them or just because he was a mean bastard. Either way, he left Red a gimp which cut Red’s roosterin’ days short. He wanted to be the macho rooster that he once was, but with only one good leg there was no way he could mount those sexy pullets and in his frustrated attempts he’d hurt them pretty badly.
But what do you do with a chicken who’s already been half eaten and had the gumption to go on living? It just wouldn’t have been right to kill him just because he was a gimp, and being officially my grandmother’s chicken he wasn’t a candidate for killing anyway. Red became a pet after he was evicted from the chicken yard. After a while of hanging around the fence being frustrated he decided to make friends with the other critters, including the two-legs. He’d hang around with the wild turkeys when they came around, and even roost with them until they moved on. He was a lot of fun, and would follow the people he liked as a puppy would, and would hop up into your lap if he liked you. Red was one helluva fine chicken, a credit to his kind.
I figure that with a couple hundred million bucks we could do right by some chickens. Sure, we’d eat their eggs and when they get too old to lay we’d kill ’em off and eat them, too, but in the meantime we’d spoil them rotten. Amethyst insists that we must also become worm farmers so she can hand feed the chooks, and we’re going to have ourselves quite the dust up over that… If she doesn’t let me get in on the hand feeding, too. 😀
Of course, we’re going to do right by some chickens (whom we’ll eventually kill and eat) without a couple hundred million bucks, if we are not the lucky fucks who win the Mega Millions jackpot. But I’d just as soon that we be the ones who score that prize, so that I can tell that guy that I’ve retired and spend more time raising chickens and veggies and stuff.