This week I want to talk about chickens. I realize I’m being a little light-minded, but as the world reels with hate and danger, sometimes I just need a temporary escape. I’ve discovered chickens (or writing about them in this case), is nearly as therapeutic as reading a good book.
I have chickens --- six little ladies. Yes, they have names, but I’ll withhold them to protect the innocent. They are afraid of everything. They run here and there at the slightest provocation. Once you’ve been around chickens, you understand why kids use the term “chicken” for those who don’t accept a dare.
I once crawled through a culvert under 200 North to prove that I wasn’t a chicken. It proved something else; ten year old boys accept a lot of dares. Most are harmless, but I do still have scars on my stomach from broken glass in the Spring Ditch!
Back to chickens. My girls are actually pullets, or teenage chickens, who are not old enough to lay eggs. By the time they start laying, I estimate my cost will be roughly twenty dollars a dozen.
There are cats in my neighborhood who are very curious about these chickens. My neighbors have dogs, and I’m sure they would do what comes naturally for dogs if a bird flies over the fence. I will not have a burial ceremony if that happens, but I think it would be a valuable teaching moment on the results of unrestricted flight patterns.
Our dog Dolly understands these little runarounds are important to me. When one ran towards her, Dolly ran to me and was rewarded with a treat. Now every time my girls flutter their wings, Dolly runs to me for a treat. I should probably add in the cost of dog treats to the eventual cost of an egg.
She Who Shall Not Be Named thinks I have lost my mind. She has already informed me that she will not be eating these eggs. I’ll keep you posted.
Mayor David Ogden