Wednesday, January 7, 2009

The Peeping Box

Peep, peep, peep. As I approached my wife’s home office with my noisy, 2 day old fuzzy new friends – Peep, peep, peep. - my wife lets out a ‘that better be something from Archie McPhee’s’ (a well known local joke shop). Peep, peep, peep. As I enter her office, I share with her it’s better, much better. The package, with the help of the trusty US Postal Service, is not from Archie McPhee’s, but from – we have our very own baby chicks! The LOOK, not good. You see my wife has a look that can kill. She’s famous for it. She can stop me in my tracks. She can stop her father in his tracks. She can stop most anyone in their tracks. She’s scary when she wants to be. She explains it as ‘when she HAS to be’.

Let me fill you in on the details leading up to this. June 2008, the economy is precarious and I’ve just started a new career path- (actually my own company) - a wall décor import company, and Life is STRESSFUL. Slate had just published an article about the urban chicken movement and my friend Big Mike suggests that the pet chickens I’ve been dreaming of these past 8 years could be a great way to "shake things up". I agreed wholeheartedly. The wife, not necessarily taken into account. This all led to 3 baby chicks being ordered and delivered by mail to start their swank new life in Ravenna. I’m over the moon. The wife, she doesn’t look so sure.


  1. So this Big Mike.... Does he like you? Or does he want your wife? I like the idea of surprising a friend with a peeping box.