Somebody … slap a pinafore on me and grab me a bonnet! I’m one step closer to becoming Laura Ingalls.
I own backyard chickens! I get all the fun and none of the Nelly Olsen. It’s perfect!
When I got my chicks one week ago they looked like this. Soft and cute and teeny tiny.
One week later they look like this. Soft and cute and not quite so teeny tiny.
All 6 of them just barely fit in the box now.
This little fellow …
Looks like this after one week …
And the chick with the cute bum?
Her/his bum now looks like this.
This this little puffball …
Is now this little puffball …
Don’t get your feathers ruffled in a knot, the chicks aren’t living in a cardboard container or an egg carton. They’re roaming freely in the most luxurious of plywood boxes. They also have their own warming light. We hitched a good lookin’ kit up together in about 5 minutes the day they came home.
First I had to rip into my potting shed which is always so smashed full of stuff I have to clean it 3 times a year for the sole purpose of keeping the producers from Hoarders off my back.
In just a few moments I managed to get a spot open on the windowsill. Ya know. An appropriate spot. Right under the fishing rods and right beside the chop saw.
If you’re thinking of getting chickens also plan on getting snacks. And beverages. You see, the second you get chickens you get visitors. And lots of ’em. Most of them don’t think to bring their own refreshments. And at least one of them will ask when the chickens will be ready to eat. Then they’ll laugh hysterically at their own joke. Guaranteed.
You should also get a picture of everyone with the chickens when they first come home because they’re only those fluffy little chicks for a couple of days. If you miss that small window of opportunity for picture taking you’ll be forced to get more chicks. And thusly more snacks. It’s a vicious cycle. And a cruel one if you happen to choose to get Chicken McNuggets for snacks.
And a final warning for anyone thinking of getting chickens … chickens are also a time suck. You’ll spend more time watching them sleep than you’ll spend sleeping yourself. Somehow, that’s O.K.
Now if you’ll excuse me I have a bonnet fitting I don’t want to be late for. And Pa always taught me never to be late. He also taught me that Nelly Olsen is a self entitled bitch and I was allowed to punch her if I wanted to as long as no one was looking. Oh wait … no … that’s something my real father would have said. Nevermind.