Chicken Hugs: What Becomes of a Childhood Fascination with Dinosaurs

Reader Contribution by Laura Berlage and North Star Homestead Farms
Published on December 12, 2019
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Cinnamon and her morning chicken hug out in the pasture.

As a kid, I was fascinated with dinosaurs.  I had a big poster about them in my room, I had realistic looking toy ones, and I had books on dinosaurs.  During recess, my friends and I would play make believe dinosaur games, racing around as velociraptors.  One of my best friends wanted to be an archaeologist, to go dig up dinosaur fossils in remote places.

He’s in medical residency now, and I may be the only one from the playground crew who gets to handle real (modern day) dinosaurs each day.

If you’ve ever wondered how dinosaurs moved, watch turkeys.  Their strutting legs, long knobby necks, peering eyes.  They bob heads back and forth as they stalk their grasshopper prey in the tall grass.  If turkeys were as big as Steve’s Prius, I’d have a serious problem! 

I already have a problem each evening when I try to collect the eggs from my turkey hens.  The ladies have decided that the best place to lay their eggs is under their summer trailer house.  This has the advantage of foiling the thieving ravens, but it’s not the easiest place for me to reach them either.  First, I must convince the five or six hissing turkeys to leave the egg pile and go into their house, so the nighttime predators don’t find them, and then I must retrieve the eggs.  This week Kara bought me long-handled grippers with a trigger on one end, which has spared me the army crawl “grab and retreat” procedure that was my previous recourse.

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