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Little Bra Peep

Bobbie Staten

If you think, from the title of this story, that this is going to be a sex story, don't go there. It's about babies. I love babies, i.e., any that I don't have to birth. I had one; he's now 21. They say you will forget the pain of childbirth. I say not if you write it down. Anyhow, the way I sublimate is to have puppies, goats and chickens. The goats have turned out to be a real pain, and I have had the dogs fixed (broken?), so they can no longer have puppies. The chickens were my last hope. Mr. Rooster was certainly doing his job with enthusiasm, but alas, although the hens laid plenty of eggs, no one was willing to set on the nest.

Not to be outdone, I bought an inexpensive incubator which turned out to be a fancy Styrofoam cooler with a heating element and a thermometer. The deal is you put the eggs in, keep them at 99 to 100 degrees, turn them every 4 hours (day and night), make sure there is enough humidity, and keep this up for 21 or so days. Such a chore, but I was willing. The chicks were supposed to be born Christmas day. I was OK with that. So for 19 days, 6 times a day, I turned, humidified, checked, and watched my flock of eggs.

It's not really much fun because the eggs don't do anything. They don't grow, move, change colors or do anything to give you a sign that you are being a "good" mother. But I persevered.

Bobbie Staten
Bobbie Staten
Then Christmas Eve I awoke to an ice storm and no electricity. The eggs! Were they too cold? I rushed to the box. They were 72 degrees; the house 68. What to do? What any good mother would do. I put the 5 eggs in my bra, under my pendulous breasts. (I knew they would be good for  something.) Then I packed the car, all the presents, and headed to Goldsboro two hours away to spend the holidays with my family as planned. Do you have any idea how hard it is to pack and drive with a seat belt with 5 eggs under your breasts and the temperature set on 80 degrees? I wondered if this was all in vain. Were they dead anyway? Would I have a head on collision only to try to explain why I smelled of rotten eggs?

We made it, I transferred them to the incubator in Goldsboro, stayed 2 days, then repeated the exercise for the trip back to Raleigh. By now the eggs were 2 days late. I was giving up hope. But then at last, one egg hatched. I watched the whole thing. It was fascinating. A little brown chick came into the world. I named him Peep…Little Bra Peep. He was precious. Peep!

Peep! Peep! So loud for a little fellow . Day and night. Peep! Peep! Peep! He scared the dogs. Peep thought that Peaches, the Maltese, was his mother and chased her unmercifully around the house. Peaches was terrified. It finally dawned on me that Peep was lonesome. Playmates! We looked in the yellow pages. The nearest hatchery was 2 hours away, but parents will do anything for their children. Glen made the trek and got 3 baby hens. Peep was thrilled. He hasn't noticed that he is a Yankee Northern Rhode Island Red and they are Southern White Eatin' Chickens, but we aren't going to tell him. You know, if prejudice isn't taught, I don't think it will happen.

Bobbie is a funny, funny lady, a rare talent with spontaneous, creative, contagious humor.  She delivers clean, original material that leaves the participants laughing, thinking, reflecting, and growing. 
Like to know more about Bobbie?

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