This week was dedicated to preparing my flower gardens, visiting with family during their spontaneous trip down to Springfield, and picking up chickens at the post office.
And let me tell you, it's hard not to be super excited about getting a cheeping box of fluffiness in the mail. Granted, I'm a long time chicken lover, but Margaret is the one who excitedly asks if she can go "talk to chickies" every time she gets out of bed. We have our five Barred Rocks and eleven Rhode Island Reds set up in a water trough in the mud room. Peshewa gave them a half-interested inspection and then stalked away with a disdainful air. Pet birds just aren't the same as the flitting indigo buntings, hummingbirds & goldfinches at the bird feeder.
The balance has quickly changed from our household being predominantly boys (Clay, William, Chico, Wild Thing, Baldrick, Athos & probably Arlo) to an overwhelming tip to the females' side. Seven to three became nineteen to seven, girls winning. Now if I could just get myself to quit referring to the chickens as "he"s.
I can't wait to have chickens scratching and scurrying around the yard and clucking excitedly every time they find an intriguing food item. As long as the dogs cooperate. Brings back fond memories of when I was the chicken girl in my youth. Even being pecked in the eye by a hen and chased down the hill by my beloved rooster, Copycat, couldn't keep me from being chicken crazy. All of my chickens had names (granted they weren't always very creative, like poor Doo-Doo, no wonder she was always so irritable) and when my rooster Alexander the Great got frostbite in Canada I brought him inside and hand fed him until he recovered and Mom kicked him back outside because she couldn't handle his crowing in the house. It was a sad day when I found him stretched out on the chicken run one morning. Dad comforted me as he was burying him by telling me that he probably died doing what he loved, chasing a hen around.
Yes, I could easily become the crazy chicken lady. Fortunately I have too many other things to distract me - like children and marriage and managing all the other animals and violin and gardening and scrap booking. And housework. And sometimes blogging. Maybe it's a good thing I have too many interests so I can't get too eccentric in just one area.
So bring on the chickens.
The balance has quickly changed from our household being predominantly boys (Clay, William, Chico, Wild Thing, Baldrick, Athos & probably Arlo) to an overwhelming tip to the females' side. Seven to three became nineteen to seven, girls winning. Now if I could just get myself to quit referring to the chickens as "he"s. I can't wait to have chickens scratching and scurrying around the yard and clucking excitedly every time they find an intriguing food item. As long as the dogs cooperate. Brings back fond memories of when I was the chicken girl in my youth. Even being pecked in the eye by a hen and chased down the hill by my beloved rooster, Copycat, couldn't keep me from being chicken crazy. All of my chickens had names (granted they weren't always very creative, like poor Doo-Doo, no wonder she was always so irritable) and when my rooster Alexander the Great got frostbite in Canada I brought him inside and hand fed him until he recovered and Mom kicked him back outside because she couldn't handle his crowing in the house. It was a sad day when I found him stretched out on the chicken run one morning. Dad comforted me as he was burying him by telling me that he probably died doing what he loved, chasing a hen around.
Yes, I could easily become the crazy chicken lady. Fortunately I have too many other things to distract me - like children and marriage and managing all the other animals and violin and gardening and scrap booking. And housework. And sometimes blogging. Maybe it's a good thing I have too many interests so I can't get too eccentric in just one area.
So bring on the chickens.
As usual, your blog brought back so many great memories of Laird, & you introducing us to the love of chickens! I loved your lines about eccentricity; perhaps diversity breeds sanity!
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