- Sep 17, 2009
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I'm hopelessly addicted. I suspect the first seed (or egg) was planted when I was 5 years old and staying with my great grandparents. Finding eggs was like the biggest rush and I never got over it, even after I went alone and got flogged by a rooster twice my size. Then I lived in Argentina for a while and there were chickens at or near every house I lived. Then a couple of years later in Egypt, there was a donkey at one end of my street and a rooster at the other end. The rooster would crow and the donkey would bray back and forth trying to out-do each other. They'd go at it for the better part of an hour and then retire until reveille the next morning. My day didn't begin until after their serenade. Then a friend in Virginia gave me a couple of black and gold hens that laid pink eggs. Reba and Sally followed me around like puppies.
After I moved here, I found a farmer who sold me some hens and now I go out back and watch them when I come home from work. I'm teaching them to do tricks using dog kibbles as treats. They'll do anything if there's a dog kibble involved. You don't ordinarily think of buff orpingtons as athletes, but they will jump really high to grab that kibble. They can also run pretty fast if they get a treat they don't want to share. My chickens love to be fed by hand, even when their can is full. I can lose hours just watching them do their chicken zen thing. I can't figure out what breeds most of them are. They don't really look all that much like chickens and they don't really sound all that much like chickens, but they lay eggs like crazy.
Next year I hope to build a higher fence around my dog run and move my coop out there. More room, more chickens. I'd like to try raising some pure bred hens. What can I say? I'm an addict.
But it gets worse. A few months ago in a second hand store, I found a ceramic chicken dressed as a bellydancer: green harem pants, a pink bow over one eye, two daisies on her chest, a hip belt patterned like a picket fence and painted toenails. Combines 2 of my most favorite things in the world. One of them is better exercise, as much as I hate to admit it.
After I moved here, I found a farmer who sold me some hens and now I go out back and watch them when I come home from work. I'm teaching them to do tricks using dog kibbles as treats. They'll do anything if there's a dog kibble involved. You don't ordinarily think of buff orpingtons as athletes, but they will jump really high to grab that kibble. They can also run pretty fast if they get a treat they don't want to share. My chickens love to be fed by hand, even when their can is full. I can lose hours just watching them do their chicken zen thing. I can't figure out what breeds most of them are. They don't really look all that much like chickens and they don't really sound all that much like chickens, but they lay eggs like crazy.
Next year I hope to build a higher fence around my dog run and move my coop out there. More room, more chickens. I'd like to try raising some pure bred hens. What can I say? I'm an addict.
But it gets worse. A few months ago in a second hand store, I found a ceramic chicken dressed as a bellydancer: green harem pants, a pink bow over one eye, two daisies on her chest, a hip belt patterned like a picket fence and painted toenails. Combines 2 of my most favorite things in the world. One of them is better exercise, as much as I hate to admit it.
