Tuesday, August 6, 2013
I have known for years that I would like to keep backyard chickens. I knew I would like the eggs and the easy recycling of kitchen scraps, but I didn't know what a kick I would get out of them, what a kick we'd all get out of them. They are so funny! Their curious natures. Their big wobbly bodies. Their gentle clucking noises. Their loud squawking when something is amiss (whether it be a dog in our yard or simply being overdue for a snack offering). We love chatting with and about them. I enjoy telling people about Sheila, our feminist chicken. She's the biggest girl, but that doesn't mean she has to lay eggs for our gratification, thank you very much.
And then there are the misadventures, like when the cat chased a baby bunny into the chicken run and it made a beeline for the nesting boxes in the coop, where it settled down much to the cat's distress and the chickens' confusion. All three chickens stood at the top of the ramp and peered into the coop, staring at the furry refugee and wondering just what the heck to do next, completely oblivious to the cat who desperately tried (in vain) to retrieve her prey.
Now, we have the single most ridiculous chicken accessory yet: the Peck and Play. Just the name cracks me up. We can't have our girls roaming free, as our yard is unfenced on the sides. Sometimes, though, they fancy a bit of a wander in the grass, so up goes the Peck and Play. They happily destroy that patch of grass and poop away until it's time to go back in the run. Silly chookies.