I can’t remember exactly how we got on the path toward poultry, but I’m pretty sure it started several years ago when our old neighbor (who had a complicated job I never understood that was somehow related to the mayor), mentioned that having chickens for pets was completely legal in our city.
I was shocked. Chickens? In the city? Rob was ready to go out the next day and start a flock.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t sold on the idea. Our landlord at the time was not exactly an animal lover. He wasn’t an animal hater per se, but when he stopped by, he often eyed Charlie suspiciously as if he may ruin the hardwood floors at any moment. Our landlords second commandment (right after thou shall pay thy’s rent): Thou shalt never allow thy dog to relieve himself in the yard. I figured if he didn’t want a dog to poop in the yard, he wouldn’t be too keen on any chickens doing their biness there either.
When we started house hunting last spring, we intentionally set out to find a place with a yard big enough for chickens (and children – we wanted them to play outside too). It wasn’t the easiest task, and it was one that wouldn’t have been a deal breaker had we found a perfect house without a perfect yard, but in the end we got what we wanted. So chickens.
The kids started asking about 30 seconds after we moved in if we could get our chicks, and I did actually consider the idea of getting them last year. But in light of the great flood of 2016, and then the great medical scare, and then the great depression, I’m really glad we waited.
Our eggs are currently in the incubator (someone else’s, not ours) and should be ready in two more weeks!
They were so stinkin’ cute it was all I could do not to buy a couple little chickies on the spot. If any of you guys have a Tractor Supply Company nearby it is a fun little trip, pretty sure my kids and I could have spent the entire day staring at these babies.