55 degrees in August

It is 55 degrees and Dewey Kitty, the cat that has spent the past three months demanding to go outside and only reluctantly coming back inside, will not get off of me.

He slept on top of me overnight. Now, as I work, he won't leave my lap.

The last August day that I remember as this cool was more than a decade ago, when the 13 Buckeye chicks - our starter flock -- arrived.

I worried and fretted that these chicks would get chilled, even though I had the heat lamp plugged in.

I worry less about the Buckeyes now; they are hardy creatures, built to survive.

"Hey," I poke Dewey Kitty who is sleeping on my lap. "You are covered in fur. You'd be just fine outside."

He curls into a tighter ball, sighs and purrs.