I can't stop thinking about...

"I can't stop thinking about chicks..." This was is what my six year old said on his way out the door to shcool today. Let's hope I can hang on to that reference as 'chickens' for a few more years.

This is the story of chickens in my life. Then and now. Ahhh. Chickens.

Part One:


Once upon a time, I had chickens. Willamena, Henrietta, Bob, Bob, Bob and Speck, Speck and Speck. (all three Bobs were cute little yellow girls and the Specks were all black and white spotted. Since I couldn't tell them apart anyway - they all had the same names.)

My sister had one named "Bah-duck." She was really our family pet. (I'm pretty sure I've told about her before - the chicken, that is) If you say bah-duck real loud and fast, it sounds like the noise a chicken makes. Hence, the name. She was a fine chicken, very smart. She would peck on the glass doors to be let in, if a coyote happened to be in the back woods. She would sit on the mat, just inside the door, until the coast was clear. She was a friend to all. Sadly, pneumonia took her, one Northwest rainy, Sunday morning before church. (okay, my dad and brother in law 'took' her, if you know what I mean. She was suffering terribly and on a 'want to be farm' these are the things that happen.

Back to my flock...

I loved those little gals. Pecking around the yard, in and out of their make shift home – my old rabbit cages. And my two big red ladies where the best. They were plump Rhode Island Red’s, and very pleasant hens. They gave eggs a couple times a week in warmer weather, and never a set of nicer gals could be found.

Upon the demise of my small ones, I felt terribly sad. Two weeks in Hawaii meant they had to have a ‘sitter.’ Brandon didn’t mean to let a ferret get to them. These things happen though. And alas, they were a tasty, feathery snack for the little sneak. Oh, I was sad. Very sad. So sad that I didn’t want to be a ‘farmer’ anymore. I had to find a new home for Willamena and Henrietta. So, off to my good friend John’s house they went. Little did I know that once the girls stopped laying, meant ‘roast chicken for dinner’ at his house. He said they were very tasty. (*pout*)

Oh, my. Very sad.

Part Two:

But having chickens is a fond memory in my life. They are great pets, and they have a lot to offer in the area of learning about animals. (eggs and all…) So of course, I have been begging to get chickens since Peter and I married.

“Please can we get chickens. Please.”

“No,” says the Scout Master, “Where would we put them.”

Year after year, this is how the pleading pans out.

But this year. THIS YEAR…, he said yes. He finally agreed that it would be good for our kids.

What!? What !?

Hooray!

Fortunately, I know someone who is getting rid of four lovely laying ladies. Lucky me.

Don’t order yet folks…this gets better!

On Saturday, Minks called to ask what I want for mother’s day. (She’s a fine sister, I know.) Of course my reply is, “Chickens.”

“Okay, chickens it is.” She says.

I laughed.

And yesterday, just as I was husking the corn for dinner – guess what showed up in my living room?





Yep. Those are baby chicks. You’re right. They are ADORABLE. Aren’t they? A yellow one, an orange one and a speckled one. (they have official breed names, but you get the idea) She brought all the necessities to get us started and EVEN offered her husband to build me a coop out in our too-shady-to-grow-anything of a garden.

Yes. You can guess I was thrilled. And so were my own little flock of four. (my actual children, that is)

One likes to hold them,

one likes to pet them,

one likes to look and ‘babysit, but NO touching’ them,

and the last like to chase, grab and possibly sit on them.

They are a BIG hit at my house. Can you think of a better Mother’s Day gift than three baby chicks we all get to mother?

Nope.




There are now three little chicks snuggled in their big blue bin, warming light on, fresh paper, food and water. Oh, they’re sweet.

As my sister’s family drove away, Peter said to me, “Your sister sure loves you.”

And he’s right.