Super Broncos Fan

At the beginning of this month, Will and I went to the first Broncos regular season game on a Thursday night.  (Thank you Aunt Vicky and Uncle Matt!)   It was a rematch of Super Bowl 50 and since I had to take Will out of school early so we could get to the game on time,  for this mom it was the last stop of the SB50 victory parade. 

We did some math homework and Will read to me on the car ride down to Denver.  We were a little ahead of the bad traffic so we made it down in record speed and had plenty of time to walk around the stadium and buy souvenir socks.  

The world's worst selfie.  The glare off of my dirty phone screen made it next to impossible to see.  Clearly.  

Will and the Sunday Night Football truck.  in this case the Thursday Night Football truck.  

Getting slightly tired of posing but still a super fan.  

The view from our seats.  It was a gorgeous night.  I packed our sweatshirts but we never even pulled them out.  Not too hot, not too cold.  Just right.  

So let's talk about the game.  The first half was not great.  I can't remember the score but I think the Broncos were down by 10 at half?  My little super fan was not happy.  Lots of grumbling about 'we need a new quarterback,' 'they're killing me...' etc. etc.  We had two bathroom trips in quick succession because he felt like he was going to barf.  He didn't but the Broncos did score when were down on the concourse and I briefly entertained the idea of watching the rest of the game on the tv outside of the men's room but we didn't.  At half time, Will told me that if the Panthers scored again, we should leave.  I was good with that because it was already past 4th grade bedtime and while I can't be my usual screaming Super Fan self when I take a kiddo to the game, I wasn't super excited to watch a blowout.  But then the tides turned and the next thing I new, there were 5 minutes left in the game and the Broncos were leading.  We gutted it out until the end when Carolina kicked a field goal that would've won the game if it hadn't veered off to the left.  Yahhhhh!

His post-game face.  

We had a really fun time.  I think the people in the seats around us were less than thrilled to have a 9-yr sitting there lest he cramp their party style, but by the end of the game he was getting hugs and high fives all around. We had a long, crowded walk back to the car - that's probably the only drawback to staying for the whole game.  Will fell asleep in the car before we made it out of Denver but I stayed awake listening to post-game interviews and highlights.  It was a happy drive until Will suddenly felt the urge to barf again (he didn't).  I blame football nerves and stadium nachos.  It was a great start to the football season and I think it will be a memory that stays with me for a very long time. I hope he'll remember it, too.

Our chicken girl who's not actually a girl

September!  Football - Will's league, college and NFL - has dominated our free time this month, along with hunting, piano and ballet practices, work stuff, cat who needs more adventure and try to venture outside every chance she gets, chickens who prefer the spacious backyard to their well-designed and tidy coop and two dogs who show more enthusiasm for jogging at 6:00 a.m. than I show for doing anything at anytime, AND a den remodel.  As usual, the Pauley house is one big ball of craziness right now.  But to pile on to that craziness, apparently we own a rooster.  

Let's start at the beginning.  About a month into chicken ownership, we wondered a little bit if our Rhode Island Red was not a Rey but more likely a Ray.  Apparently chicken gender identification is more of an art than a science and while the guy we bought our chickens from boasts a 95% success rate, that's still not 100%.  So we watched little Rey and frequently googled "rhode island reds" and convinced ourselves that yes, the hens look like the roosters, yes their spurs are on the bigger side and yep, they have those pointy feathers in the back that look rather rooster-y.  Reina overheard us discussing Rey/Ray's gender one day and immediately freaked out that we'd have to find Rey a new home if in fact she was a he.   I told her that we'd have to wait and see but that we were pretty sure we had a hen. Until a few weeks ago.  

(Am I really writing a whole blog post about chicken gender?  Apparently I am!)  I noticed last week that Rey had grown a bit taller than the other 3.  Glenn commented on her spur size again. Will came in the house one afternoon and mentioned that Rey was being silly and biting the other chickens on the back of the necks, isn't that weird?  Now, I should point that I'm not technically a farm girl but I did grow up around enough animals to recognize amorous chicken behavior when it's described to me by a 9-yr old.  I mentioned to Glenn that night that we shouldn't make any decisions until we hear a cock-a-doodle-do. 

Fast forward to a few mornings ago.  Glenn's hunting, the kids are getting on their bikes to head to school, I'm walking out the door for work and I hear a loud chicken noise that sounds like a very amateurish 'something something doodle-do.'  I pause and listen and uh-oh, there it is again.  I head to work in a slightly unreasonably sad mood (it's just a chicken! But she's a friendly chicken!) and think about what to do next.  Glenn happens to get cell reception and he calls me later in the day and after I update him on relevant kid behavior, I mention the rooster noises.  We agree that I should contact the guy we bought the chickens from.  I text that guy later and tell him my concerns.  He says to send him a picture of Rey when I get home.  Which I do and get an immediate reply of "Oh no, that's a cockerel."  

So there you have it.  Our girl is a guy.

Yeah, I don't know how we didn't know either.  Hey big fella.

So that brings me to last night.  After a few back and forths with the chicken guy, he agrees to take Ray back.  We can't have roosters in the city limits and frankly we don't need one anyway.  We just want eggs, not a harem.  The chicken guy tells me that there's a chance Ray will become a back-up rooster and live out his life doing you know what.  That's how I shall think of him.  But I'm still left with the job of breaking the news to Will and Reina.  I chose the car ride on the way home from Chick Fil-A (oh the irony) after football practice.  Will was pragmatic.  I think his exact words were something along the lines of "well it is just a chicken, not a dog or cat."  Reina took a different approach.  Bless her chicken-loving heart, she was the opposite of pragmatic.  Lots of tears and heart wrenching sobs. Just like with her goldfish, she immersed herself in the stages of grief, moving between anger (why didn't you make sure she was a girl?!) and bargaining (Let's just move to the country.  And surprisingly, "let's break the law!")  She calmed down a little when I pointed out that Ray was moving back to where he was born and gets to hang out with his parents and his brothers and sisters.  I can't say she's at acceptance yet but she's getting there.  

Ray is with us until Sunday.  When I took some grapes out to everybody tonight, he ate the grape out of my hand and then pecked my arm pretty hard a few times looking for more.  Maybe he's just trying to make it easier for me to send him back.  Maybe it'll help her grieving process if I send her out with the grapes next time?