Friday, November 19, 2010

Confessions of a Chicken Farmer

Okay, so I think that my most regular readers are my mom, mother-in-law, and husband.  I am truly appreciative of their encouragement and following of the blog. 

But, for the rest of the folks who may poke their heads in here who don't already know this.... well, I have a confession.  

As you have likely gathered there are chickens that live at my house. 

Well, in my backyard.... in their coop... up on the hill.... across from my back porch. 

We call them "The Girls".  

Hey Girls!

Yep, we have 3 laying hens.   Well, they aren't really laying too much right now.  I bet you didn't know this, unless you a fellow chicken farmer yourself, but as the days get shorter hen's egg production declines (and sometimes stops).   

Pretty interesting, huh?

Another little factoid that I get a lot of questions concerning The Girls is could we be raising baby chickens out back?  Well, because we live in a subdivision and because we actually like our neighbors (well, most of them you may need to read about the Unabomber to know that whole story) we do not have a rooster. 

So it would be impossible for The Girls' eggs to become fertilized and produce baby chicks.     

And that has been your biology lesson of the day courtesy of LeeAnn the Chicken Farmer.  You're welcome!

Oh... that reminds.  My confession.  

You see Chicken Farmer probably wouldn't be a completely accurate description of the contribution I make to the quality of life for The Girls.  

Maybe Chicken Observer would be more accurate.   Well, no, that's still a little bit of a stretch.  

How about Occasional Chicken Observer?   Yeah Occasional Chicken Observer. 

Not really hands on with things, but hey!  From time to time I will a stick a piece of dry grass in their coop to watch them scramble for it.  

And maybe once every few weeks when I'm out there I will talk to them. 

Never mind that conversation is me telling them they need to stop stinking up my backyard or their fate will be Original Recipe or Extra Crispy. 

I joke, I joke. 

I don't hate them.  At least nowadays I don't hate them.

And since I'm giving confessions about my status as a Chicken Farmer  Occasional Chicken Observer if I am going to come completely clean then I could say I have kinda embraced them.  

Well, from the distance of my porch where I'm not down wind.

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