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Needed something to occupy my mind and stay my hand as I have 20 eggs at 52 days. Greg Stephens and Eddie Aste have tried to calm my impatience to no avail.
I'm dying over here!!!!!
To pip, or not to pip--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of a long incubation
Or to take up scissors after 52 days
And by opening hatch them. To pip, to incubate--
No more--and by a pip to say we tempt
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That breeders are heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To pip, to sleep--
To pip--perchance to DREAM: ay, there's the rub,
For in that cutting of eggs what morphs may come
When we have shuffled off this calcified coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long incubation.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of 54 days,
Th' denting, the MVF's contumely
The pangs of full term dead, the last egg's delay,
The insolence of Mr. Herman's Photoshop, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might the pipping make
With a bare scissors? Who would unpipped eggs bear,
To grunt and sweat over a full unhatched egg box,
But that the dread of something after NOT pipping,
The undiscovered morph, from whose bourn
No breeder returns to a real job, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather pip those eggs we have
Than leave the others alone that we know not of?
Thus impatience does make pippers of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er by the pale thought of blue scales,
And enterprise of great husbandry and bloodlines
With this regard their hatchlings turn awry
And lose the name of nature. -- Soft you now,
The fair Walder! -- Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my GTPs remembered.
To pip, or not to pip--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of a long incubation
Or to take up scissors after 52 days
And by opening hatch them. To pip, to incubate--
No more--and by a pip to say we tempt
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That breeders are heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To pip, to sleep--
To pip--perchance to DREAM: ay, there's the rub,
For in that cutting of eggs what morphs may come
When we have shuffled off this calcified coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long incubation.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of 54 days,
Th' denting, the MVF's contumely
The pangs of full term dead, the last egg's delay,
The insolence of Mr. Herman's Photoshop, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might the pipping make
With a bare scissors? Who would unpipped eggs bear,
To grunt and sweat over a full unhatched egg box,
But that the dread of something after NOT pipping,
The undiscovered morph, from whose bourn
No breeder returns to a real job, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather pip those eggs we have
Than leave the others alone that we know not of?
Thus impatience does make pippers of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er by the pale thought of blue scales,
And enterprise of great husbandry and bloodlines
With this regard their hatchlings turn awry
And lose the name of nature. -- Soft you now,
The fair Walder! -- Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my GTPs remembered.
Good luck with that, if Greg or Eddie couldn't talk you down
there may be no hope. I hope hatching goes smoothly and you soon see 20 hungry mouths.
... It's like watching a soap opera... What's gonna happen next?!?
