A couple of weeks ago my bf's son (who is the UBER country salesman) talked my husband into buying some chicks off of him. Now we are the proud owners of nine chickens. Hila and I are fascinated with the little squawkers, checking on them whenever we go to hang the laundry on the line. Hila kneels down and points at them saying, "cheekin" trying to convince me to let them out to play.
Problem is, I've never actually had much experience with them. The squeemish city-girl in me just knows that as soon as I pick one up its gonna poo all over me! Mind you, I have no problem going knee deep in mule-poo to get my beloved Minnie, but something about chicken poo on me sends me to shuddering.
Hila, apparently, has no such objections as she tries to shove her chubby fingers through the chicken wire to "pet" the birds (which to her means squeezing their heads).
I do like the idea of being able to step outside and watching the chickens scramble towards me as I sprinkle their feed around, and gathering fresh eggs for my recipes...as long as there are no evil roosters that send me running for my life and Chuck comes home to find me and Hila up the maple tree!
Problem is, I've never actually had much experience with them. The squeemish city-girl in me just knows that as soon as I pick one up its gonna poo all over me! Mind you, I have no problem going knee deep in mule-poo to get my beloved Minnie, but something about chicken poo on me sends me to shuddering.
Hila, apparently, has no such objections as she tries to shove her chubby fingers through the chicken wire to "pet" the birds (which to her means squeezing their heads).
I do like the idea of being able to step outside and watching the chickens scramble towards me as I sprinkle their feed around, and gathering fresh eggs for my recipes...as long as there are no evil roosters that send me running for my life and Chuck comes home to find me and Hila up the maple tree!
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