Pecking Away

Just Pecking Away

At  (1) the third Murder Mystery in the Fall of the Alliance series and (2) the conclusion of this sidetrack into the Bad Guy’s part of the Multiverse. Except, maybe a collection of shorter works . . .

I don’t know whether to ignore the Real World and get some work done, watch the news obsessively so I can see the train wreck in detail as it happens, or prep madly.

I suspect I’ll just wobble around between all options, and may not survive the next couple of years, because I’m doing everything too late. See? The wheat harvest is failing in multiple critical areas, and really? Does anyone actually believe Russia when they claim they’re going to have a bumper crop? So I’ve got a garden—too small to live on, but it’ll stretch out the groceries if things get really bad. And I planted a couple of fruit trees and grape vines . . . but they won’t be bearing this year.

And the chick? Oh dear.

See, I have this “interesting” neighbor. He’s regressed back toward normal, these last few years, no more emus or llamas. No miniature cows. But he’s still got lots of dogs, way too many cats, exotic birds in cages, a houseful of fish tanks, and the loose birds that roam the neighborhood. Chickens, ducks, peacocks and guinea fowl.

They like my yard, as I’m currently without dogs to bother them. And every once in a while, I’ll find eggs in the yard. Sometimes in nests, sometimes just sitting out on the lawn.

And . . . I finally gave into curiosity, bought a cheap incubator and found out that yes, I could indeed hatch an orphaned egg.

Which, without other chicks, has imprinted on the nearest moving object.

Ahem. I may be able to write male characters who have to deal with clingy chicks more convincingly now . . .

Yes. He or she (I haven’t a clue) is perched on my foot. It was sleeping  until I grabbed my camera.

Anyhow, if I’m going to raise chickens for eggs and meat, I’d best get down to the feed store and buy some chicks that will grow up to be reasonably large critters, not this offspring of semi-feral banties. A single chick (of any sort) is not an impressive Prep for Armageddon, or even lean times.

Even if it does amuse my friends, who joke about Chirp being an aspiring writer of “Chickens in Space” novels.

In any case, I have gotten the first Fall of the Alliance book out in paper, for those who prefer the smell and feel of a “real book.” And no, there are no chickens in it.