Swearing Chickens

I'm pretty sure one of the chickens dropped the F-bomb when I opened their door this morning. Chances are it was Chipmunk, she is the most boisterous, but the rest joined in swearing nearly instantaneously when they saw the snow. 

It sounded like a coop full of sailors. 

They aren't huge fans of the snow during normal times, but there was no need for their potty mouths just because it's still snowing. I tried to cheer them up with all the positives of another winter storm in mid-April, but their vitriol turned toward me so I left them alone. Their resemblance to dinosaurs can be slightly terrifying.

I'm kind of tired of looking at the bright side and I'm wondering if I should join the chickens in their cursing. This weekend will be beautiful and we'll all forget. Living here is a lot like giving birth- sometimes it's a pain, but then you forget, until you need to remind the child who is too inconvenienced to pick up the half eaten food in their room what it was like to fit their head through a passage that's normally a centimeter. 

I still went for a hike because that's my Monday discipline to keep me sane. It quit snowing and switched to snain so that is something. 

And there were Trumpeter Swans and gross little creatures everywhere. That was kind of cool. And now I can justify curling up in front of the fire with a book.

There's no great moral lesson or inspiration other than sometimes swearing is helpful but rituals are probably more helpful for days when you don't feel like doing jack other than whining.