My longing for chickens is probably something a psychiatrist would find suspicious.  In my mind, a home with fat chickens roaming freely must be a peaceful happy place.   That was probably imprinted in my DNA, as it’s just always been there.

My love of Border Collies, however began in 1995.  That was when Babe was released. I loved that movie.  Babe, the pig, was adorable, but he wasn’t my favorite.  It was Fly.  That mama dog was so wonderful.  She was kind and gentle with her pups, welcomed Babe when he was sad, tried to buffer the effects of her snarly spouse Rex and worked full time as a herder.  What a beauty too!  She is my canine ideal.  How is it I’ve never had one?  When we went looking for a dog, my son wanted a Lab.  A good dog she was, but she was no Fly.  Now we have mutt boys- those “designer dogs” that are non-shedders crossed to create a hyphenated pseudo breed.  My sister in law has a border collie.  Technically, I should say my brother and his family, but I think Theresa was the Border Collie lover initially.  Now, my distantly-related-through-marriage cousin Hylton has a beautiful Border Collie pup.  She’s so cute it almost hurts to see her picture.  She is not his first, he’s had several.  He also has Bram, and he’s a lovely old boy.  I’ve a border collie sized hole in my life.  It’s somehow tied up in that ideal home image, planted in my DNA and then triggered by Babe.  Time to start looking into the puppy potential.  In the meantime, maybe a DVD and popcorn night, featuring you-know-who!