We Ordered 10. The Box Said Otherwise.

A Front Porch Story

Whew, y’all.

I would like to start by saying that I had already made peace with 10 chickens.

Ten Cornish Cross chicks were headed to 1737 Urban Homestead.

Ten.

Double digits.

I had accepted it. I had mentally prepared myself. I had even gotten to the point where I could say, “Ten chicks are coming,” without questioning the series of life choices that got us here.

And then the box arrived.

I opened it, looked down at a whole bunch of tiny yellow fluff balls moving around, and started counting.

One… two… three…

Nine… ten…

Eleven.

Twelve.

😳

No.

That can’t be right.

So naturally, I counted again.

One… two… three…

Twelve.

Now, have you ever tried to count twelve tiny chickens who have absolutely no respect for inventory procedures?

They’re moving. They’re climbing over each other. Somebody is disappearing underneath somebody else. So obviously the problem was me.

I counted AGAIN.

Still twelve.

At this point, I’m standing over this box looking like I’m conducting a full investigation because I know good and well WE ORDERED TEN CHICKENS.

Jordan comes over.

I tell him there are twelve.

This man looks at the box, smiles, LAUGHS, and says:

“I don’t have a problem with it.”

🙄

I BET YOU DON’T.

Sir, the discrepancy is in your favor.

Of course you don’t have a problem with it.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out how chicken math managed to get us before the chickens even made it out of the shipping box.

I thought chicken math was something that happened over time.

You start with four.

Then somebody needs a friend.

Then you see a breed you’ve been wanting.

Then somebody gives you a chicken.

Then you look around one day and realize you have seventeen chickens and no clear recollection of how it happened.

Apparently, we have reached an advanced level of chicken math where you can order ten and twelve just show up.

And the two extras?

Not a care in the world.

Just sitting in that box with everybody else like:

“What seems to be the problem, ma’am? We work here.”

😂

So, yes.

We officially have 12 Cornish Cross chicks at 1737.

Not ten.

Twelve.

Am I still shaking my head?

Absolutely.

Does Jordan have a problem with it?

We have established that he does not. 🙄😂

And judging by the way he was smiling at that box, I’m fairly certain he considers this excellent customer service.

The chicks are here. They’re fluffy. They’re adorable. And despite the fact that two of them were apparently not on my original paperwork, they’re home now.

Because that’s life around here.

You make a plan.

You prepare for the plan.

You get comfortable with the plan.

And then somebody puts two extra chickens in the box.

So welcome home, little ones.

All TWELVE of you.

And apparently, we need to have a staff meeting about livestock controls around here.

Although considering management has already issued an official statement of “I don’t have a problem with it,” I don’t expect much to come from the investigation.

Whew.

Cultivating community. Harvesting home. And apparently operating without livestock controls.

Only at 1737. 😂🐥