Mad Chicken Lady? Already!?

Its been around a month now since we bought the chickens. They've grown from week old peeps to six week old chooks and they continue to grow on me every day. It is so rewarding to come home from work and let them out for a wander while I potter about the garden. I'm thinking this strange fondness I have aquired for them has possibly started to manifest itself into some unwelcome side effects.

The first of these is my sudden reluctance to eat chicken. Don't get me wrong, I love the taste of chicken and it makes up most of our home made meals, but suddenly I see 'chicken' on a menu and I get visions of my fluffy chooks waddling around, staring at me with those big black eyes ... me stroking the backs of their fuzzy necks the one minute and then feasting on their little bodies the next. I have still eaten chicken on the odd occasion these last few weeks, not wanting these new irrational thoughts to have any real impact on how I live my life (or my husbands god love him) ... however I don't really enjoy or welcome chicken on my plate with the same ardor as before and I am leaving more and more on my plate. This worries me ... Its not a good sign.

The second annoying side effect is my sudden and avid facination with all things 'chicken'. If I see a mug with a little chicken on it I have this overwhelming urge to point the object out in a very childish fashion to my husband. Of course he humours my sudden enthusiam for our new chooks and has almost embraced this new afliction of mine and even joined in on the odd occasion, but I find the whole thing terribly annoying!

I was in a well known supermarket the other day and they have a new chicken coop type cake and I was so inwardly excited and tempted to buy it simply because it had a chicken on the top that I had to question my own sanity! I manged to refrain from picking one up, rather pointing it out casually to my other half with a excuse in mind that it would be nice if we had guests over however I know in my own mind that I have caught some terrible (possibly incurable?) chicken compusive disorder.

Is it only a matter of time before my desk at work is covered with chicken teddies, ornaments, calendars and mugs and I am suddenly known overnight as the 'mad chicken lady'? Is there any hope?