You know how sometimes pictures don’t truly express what you were feeling at the moment?
This one does.
It perfectly captures my reaction to the Easter present I got two years ago.
Shock, surprise, fear, glee. Here’s what happened.
(What could a cardboard box hold that would create such an extreme reaction?)
This …
And not just one … a bunch of them.
Now I’m sure you have questions, so I’ll answer a few off the top of my head right now.
What are those things, Karen?- They are live Peeps. They’re chickens.
Did you always want chickens?- Yes.
You must live in the country.- Um, no.
Then you must have a big yard.- Um, no.
Do you have any idea how to take care of chickens?- No.
Will your chickens lay eggs?- I hope so. That’s the plan.
Do you like eggs?- I’m actually allergic. Just kidding. Yup. I like eggs.
Do chickens have to live in a chicken coop?-Yes.
Do you have a chicken coop?- No.
Do chickens make a lot of noise?- I dunno.
What kind of chickens are they?- Mutts kind of. Rhode Island Reds and 1 that’s a cross between a Rhode Island Red, a Columbia Rock and an Ameraucana.
How many are there?- Six. Problem is I only have room for 2. Once I know if they’re male or female I’ll pick out two females and then I’ll have some chickens to give away.
But not this one …
Or this one …
Or this one ’cause he has such a cute bum.
Or any of the ones that are cute. Uh oh.
So how did this come to be exactly? How did I end up with six chickens in a cardboard box on my counter Easter morning?
As I’ve mentioned before, my boyfriend is a very conscientious present buyer. It’s remarkable really the things he picks up on.
Turns out I’ve been talking about chickens a lot over the past few years without even realizing it. Mentioning that I’d love to have a chicken. Talking about how much fun it’d be to go outside and bring eggs in from our own chicken. I’d show him blog posts from Pint Sized Pioneering where Jenn keeps chickens in her urban backyard. I’d mention how the side yard would be the perfect place to keep chickens.
So I guess he figured … Karen wants a chicken.
Now here’s the thing. I DID want chickens. But never in a million years would I have gone out and bought myself some chickens to keep in the backyard. Especially not without some kind of plan. And a coop. And a plan. He on the other hand would.
I apologize for sounding like a proud, new mother but I think they’re the most beautiful babies in the world. I don’t want to completely inundate you today, so I’ve saved some of the best pictures to show you on Friday. I’ll also have a short little video of the day the chicks arrived for you to watch.
I imagine there’s going to be a huge amount of hijinx and hullabaloo with this new hobby. A lot of hullabaloo indeed.
And by hullabaloo, I mean chicken poop. Crap.
It’s been 2 years since I first wrote this blog post on my blog The Art of Doing Stuff. I am happy to say that the chickens are alive and well. One poor soul died after a few days despite my creating an intensive care unit for her in my basement, and one turned out to be a Mr.
I discovered that fact one morning at approximately 5 a.m. By 6 a.m through the miracle of Kijiji, I found him a good home. He is currently head rooster to about 100 hens at a small free range egg facility.
