We always had chickens, horses, and a garden growing up. We appreciated what mother nature provided, and were very lucky to be raised on healthy, farm food. My father is 6' 8" tall. Needless to say, he's a little intimidating but perfectly cut out for farm life. You would imagine a man like that to be a little cold, and a times he is, but when it came to his babies, he melted... My sister and I used to hide in the barn when he would feed the chickens. We would spy through the knots in the floor boards and peek at my father as he went into the coop. He would bend down and whisper "Hello ladies!" and pet and love them like they were kittens. He would thank them for their eggs and inspect them for good health before tucking them in. Then he would come inside with the eggs reporting that "The girls looked good" in his toughest Dad voice. THe chickens are long gone at my parents house, and I've since taken over the duty with six new babies peeping in my garage. My father, recently diagnosed with a brain tumor, visits regularly. He opens the brooder and let's them perch on his shoulder. Sometimes, when he thinks we're not looking, he whispers "Hello, girls!" as he snuggles them under his chin. Some people don't get chickens. Some people don't get love. In our house, chickens are love.