If an Egg Falls in the Forest

There is an ongoing debate going around the farm. If a moose moults (looses it's antlers) has any human ever witnessed it? Wouldn't it be cool to be canoeing up north and see a big moose and "CLUNK" it's antlers fall off? I'll let you guess who dreamed this one up (the creative mind) and which one poo-poos it (Mr.Logic). I mention this because in a similar vein, there has been ponderings as to whether or not we could witness egg-laying. We have certainly heard it. Especially at first when they were still learning to lay, the girls would make such a racket - I was sure that our neighbours were regretting ok-ing the whole urban farming thing. We've joked about getting a "chicken cam" to capture the miracle of food production - there are technical roadblocks like lack of light and the fact that chickens will peck at anything (see earlier blogs re: almost destroying their thermometer). But the other day, it happened. BCF Jr and myself were hanging with the girls on a sunny, autumn day and had just let them free (more later on chicken mommy guilt) to run and peck and spread mulch all over the lawn (more later on chickens for meat). One girl stayed behind, up in the nesting box. She let out a strange choking sound - we wondered if this was the moment. Now, I always thought it was a quick "buck-ah" and out popped the egg. Nature does have a way of taking it's time however. I mean, really, this is like labour, and if you have ever experienced/witnessed that, you know there is some work involved (it's not called labour for nothing!)I crouched at the opposite end of the coop, door propped open just enough to get a view, The chicken walked around and around in circles, first one way and then another. This went on for at least 5 minutes. BCF jr. lost interest and went inside. I was bound and bent that I would witness this event. I continued to crouch, my foot was starting to fall asleep, the chicken walked around and around in restless cirlces. Finally, she stopped her spinning and sat, her tail feathers high in the air (she looked like one of those stuffed pheasants on top of a ladies' hat). The sitting lasted some time as well, as she occasionally nibbled at the woodchips surrounding her. At last, she raised her tail ever higher, lowered it completelydown and "CLUNK" . And that was it. The egg was laid and although I didn't see it "exit" I feel I had witnessed a miracle. I ran to the house announcing that the egg had been laid. BCF Jr. ran out to see. He retrieved the egg "It's still hot!" and it truly was. "I want to eat it right now!" he declared confidently. It was as if he recognized a special moment that was not to be missed. I obliged and made him the freshest egg of his life.

real farmers eat quiche

This is going to sound really funny, but I haven't eaten any eggs yet. I should qualify that: until today, I hadn't eaten any of our girls' eggs. Now at first, I let BCF jr eat the eggs since they were few and far between. And egg laying is a strange thing. Maybe it's just a natural, non-tampered, non-technical, un-drivethru thing. I was expecting the 5 months mark to arrive and bang - eggs galore. Firing on all six cylinders, if you will. Not so. It's more like, a bunch of women are due to have their baby on the same day but they come at all different times. There seems to be a lot of wiggle room. So one starts and then 4 days later another starts. And they don't lay an egg a day suddenly. It comes on gradually. In honesty this is all conjecture. I have little to back this up. It's not like we have a "laying cam" set up in the coop, although we have had discussions doing just that. Our evidence comes from the eggs themselves. The first eggs are very small and rather oblong. They are also discoloured. With each egg, they get larger and more egg shaped and coloured (brown in this case). When we get a weird small egg, we figure a new girl has graduated to hen-hood. Now it seems that 3 hens are laying and there are more eggs to be had. I have no excuses to not try the eggs. I let our chicken sitter eat the ones he found (future blogs on crazy Joe the chicken sitter). I brought 5 to my mom. Now, she had a fridge full of organic free range eggs from a local farmer. She lives in farm country and she's a baby boomer- I should have known better. I think a small part of me was feeling weird about eating my children's potential children so to speak. I know it makes no sense since we have no rooster (oh ya, and they are not my children, they are chickens), but the potential is there. Anyhow, I was getting tired of lying to people who enthusiastically said "fresh eggs must be so good." So today, when we had restocked our eggs I decided it was time. I got out my trusted Linda McCartney vegetarian cookbook and whipped up the finest "Quiche Linda" you ever did see. Potential never tasted so good.

the day we have all been waiting for...

I've been feeling mildly guilty all summer. There have been many moments with the chickens like, when 2 are perched up on the bird bath, and I say, man, I gotta blog about that - it's just so cute and strange all at once. Then I see a butterfly or get hungry for lunch and "poof" the thought is gone. Now that summer is fleeting and autumn is peeking around the corner, I'm feeling the need for routine and to tie up loose ends. There are a few blog ideas knocking around my noggin. However, I would be an irresponsible farmer and blogger if I did not blog about a very important happening...you guessed it, WE HAVE EGGS. This past Labour Day weekend (fitting) we got our first 3 eggs. The fourth came today. I will spare you with the count from here on in (I am keeping track to see how much money we actually save - so far we are still in the red minus 75 cents). Now here is the killer part; it was Mr.BCF who "called it" or predicted and confirmed that we had incoming eggs. This part really bugs me. I am with those fowl every day. I check on them many times a day, talk to them, give them bits of my lunch, hose their manure off the walkway. You get the picture - I am intimately acquainted with these hens. Moving on with our story...Friday morning, the girls were particularly noisy. I was having chicken remorse i.e. "I thought the roosters were the noisy ones, why did I get chickens, why?" Mr.BCF said matter-of-factly, I think the chickens are going to start laying today. He goes to the coop and sure enough, there it is - a perfect, brown egg. BCF jr was so thrilled that he ran around the neighbourhood to show all the important people: his aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmother, the guy who watches the chickens when we are away, the people on the corner who own the pizza joint - you know, the usual. When BCFjr got home he said he wanted the egg for lunch. He handed it to me, warm and wet from his little sweaty hand. Yum.

Overdue Updates

Dear reader, it has been a very long time. And if you are neurotic and worry and invent all sorts of horrific scenarios in your imagination like I do, I'm sure you are a mess by now. I would like to end radio silence and put your fears to rest. First off, the chickens are alive - all six, despite Mr. BCF's expectations (he suggested I get 6 because secretly he thought only 3 would live - chicken insurance, if you will). They are well and enjoying the summer. They appear to be full grown although they aren't laying eggs yet. BCF jr. has fallen into a great groove with the girls; he faithfully gets up each day and before anything else, pajamas still on, he runs to the back of the yard, lets the ramp down and opens the door so they can run around. He checks their food and water and fills their new "grown up" feeder with layer feed (no more greasy kid's stuff for them). He is very diligent about not leaving them unattended for too long. In his words. "Eagles make lousy babysitters". Throughout the day we toss out bits of veg and fruit for "chicken treats". It's an adventure to find out what they like and don't like. It's also fun to watch them play tug of war with slices of tomatoes or fight over a grape. Did I mention we only get 2 TV stations?

When we come in the gate there are bells that ring. That usually prompt one of the girls to be "guard chicken" at race, or rather waddle quickly to our feet. I'm not sure if it is a territory thing or not. I'd like to think she is greeting us because she missed us soooo much.

At night, the girls go upstairs on their own and we put up the ramp and close up the door. BCFjr has to count all 6 to make sure. We always have to pray that God will keep the chickens alive. Simple prayer. Simple life.

a home for wayward girls

Well, tonight is the first night the girls are away from home. It seems strange to not have them squawking in the back porch. BCF jr. is very concerned for them. He prayed that God would protect them from "predators" and that they would "survive". He is six. After conferring with Mr.BCF over the nighttime temperatures and some missing security components of the coop (did I mention that we have a coop?) we decided it was time and we were ready. Said missing components are being replaced by a skimming net and a couple of straps. I think I married MacGiver. Mr.BCF/MacGiver built the coop on the Victoria Day Weekend with the help of his farmer-in-law. They worked steadily and made a beautiful home for our foul. It is called an "ark" and looks like an alpine cottage to me. There are two floors;the top for nesting boxes, roosting and snoozing and the bottom is a run. A ramp connects the floors and retracts at nighttime. It has nifty doors with latches for accessing chickens and eggs. The roof comes off in two sections for easy clean up. Best of all, the whole shooting match can be lifted and carried to a new location for fresh bug foraging. The girls have spent all week in the run during the day. They scratch and peck and make happy little chicken noises. They even dig little ditches and sleep in them (it's cooler?) I'm sure that I can see their beaks turn up slightly. But the sure sign of coop contentment was that at the end of the day, when it was time to come in the house, they went scratching and squawking and flying the whole way. I'm ready for them to stay out there. Let's hope the neighbourhood predators aren't.

Lost and Found

The girls have really been enjoying their new found freedom - perhaps a little too much. Allow me to explain; As mentioned before, we've been enjoying the Spring and daily chicken playtime. I was feeling more lax with each play session, wandering further from the flock and then eventually going inside for a few minutes at a time. A few minutes turned into longer and longer blocks of time. Each time I came outside, the girls were faithfully at the back stoop, in their little cluster, pecking for bugs. So imagine my shock when last week I came out and did the cursory head count and only found 3! Unfortunately, BCF jr. was with me. I said not to panic, but I think he heard the panic in my voice. In a nanosecond I had visions of the neighbourhood bald eagles having a feast. I looked frantically for signs of a struggle, like feathers or other less savory things found at a crime scene. The remaining three watched me from the safety of beneath the stoop. We sent out our two man search party around the perimeter of the yard. After making it three quarters of the way around, BCF jr. lost composure and sobbed right in the middle of the hostas. I assured him that we would find the lost chicks. I was amazed and slightly shocked at how easily I lied. I was equally amazed with what I did next. I said to BCF jr. "Let's pray." Now, I don't take prayer lightly and I don't want to teach my son that God is the big dispensing machine in the sky, but I felt that it would be ok with God ,if at this moment, I made a bold prayer. If it was answered differently than expected, I would take that as another teaching opportunity (i.e. sometimes God says no....) I said "Dear God, you know we've lost our chickens and we really miss them. Would you return them to us really soon. Thanks in advance, amen" In another nanosecond I quickly calculated when the next "chick day" was at the feed store and wondered at how easy it would be to introduce them to the surviving members of the original flock. We circled around again, and then broadened our search to outside the confines of the yard. I searched the boulevard and even across the street. I went out front and stopped my sister-in-law in her car. "I've lost some chickens!" It sounded so ridiculous coming out of my mouth. She shared my concern - I thought it kind that she didn't laugh. I continued to alternately search and console the now fully grieving BCF jr. As I stood on the front sidewalk and recounted my tale of loss to my other sister-in-law (who kindly offered to join the search party) I was suddenly aware that I was being watched. There, in front of my house, strutting in the front garden, were the missing chicks! They looked as surprised to see me as I was to see them. I fixed that gap in the fence.

think outside the bawks...part 2

When you live in Canada, even in the southernmost parts (the city will still remain nameless until town council stops laughing and makes chicken husbandry ok) ya just get tired of Winter. And since this was a long and cold one, Spring has sprung that much sweeter. Last week, finally, it got warm enough that I felt the girls could go out into the real world. We took a couple out for a short stroll (I didn't want them to get a chill). At first they didn't know what to do - they just stood there in the grass. When they took their first tentative steps it was like a baby taking her first step on foreign material - those sensory receptors in the feet just don't know what to do with that information. Then one shyly walked over to me, stood on my shoe under the shelter of my pant leg. The second chick followed suit, on the same foot, facing the opposite way. I got a little misty...Several days and several more degrees warmer, we took the whole posse out. Again, they all stood, not sure what to do with this alien landscape. Instinct took over shortly thereafter and soon they were scratching and pecking for bugs like old hens in the barnyard. They wandered in a little clump like 5 year olds around the soccer ball. And then after half an hour of "chicken play-time" they simultaneously stopped moving. I relocated the exhausted and slightly stunned fowl back to the safety of their plastic box. Said box is getting mighty small. I take the girls out for CPT each day now partly as entertainment for BCF jr., partly out of chicken-mommy guilt. See subsequent posts for the coop building extravaganza!

think outside the bawks...part 1

Wow, it's been way too long since last I "blogged on" - so much has happened... I have that vague sense of guilt one gets when they haven't filled in their child's baby book and the child is now 6. (Now, who would ever do a terrible thing like that?...) So to make up for lost chick time (the 6 year old's book is a lost cause at this point) I will give you a mini-voyage of the chicks' lives beyond the brooder. Three weeks ago the girls were "relocated" to the back porch. It is a little nippy out there still, but there was that whole issue of the house-barn-smell, so it had to be done. We compensated by placing a thermal blanket part way over the opening over the brooder. We keep a thermometer in there (remember? their "real" mom or god) to ensure that they are kept comfy. Since it was too cold outside to frolic, we decided to let them loose in the porch. They seemed to like it. It was room to roam and find spider snacks. Brave Chicken Farmer Jr. took to singing to them and playing the wind chimes softly. He looked like a young Bing Crosby crooning to the babes.. Now, it's all fun and games until everyone poops. I've grown to love and appreciate wood chips. Needless to say, porch-time has been limited. BCF jr. has also taken to bringing out one lucky contestant and sitting her on his lap in the house. Because the first time he was seated on a speaker with his leg extended and a chick fell asleep, he is convinced that this is the way he must do it each time. He also thought it was cool to play video games on the computer with a chick sleeping on his lap. The aftermath is slightly less labour intensive for me, but more unpleasant for BCF jr. There is a lot of laundry these days.

chicken dinner

Chicks eat, well, chick food. Actually it's called chick starter or crumbles. It looks like kitty litter and doesn't smell much better. It's full of some stuff, supposed to be good for ya... I'm very excited about the prospect of feeding the girls some "real food", so we started to feed them spiders. I'm sure my arachnophobic family will appreciate that and have new found respect for me. The thing is that in this part of Southwestern Ontario (my city is not revealed to protect the not-so-innocent) we have a lot of spiders, especially near the water (said body of water is not named for the same reason). As soon as it is a little warm, those beggars come out in full force. It's funny, because in years gone by, I didn't mind the spiders. I let them live in my house as long as they didn't get in the way. My porch is a veritable spider gallery. A fat juicy spider hangs every foot or so, happily spinning it's webs or capturing prey. They are quite compelling. However, my chicken-mother instinct has tainted my spider love. So in a moment of motherly spite, I picked up one of these spiders and swung it by it's own web over the girls' heads. (I had no concern for retribution because I don't believe in Karma). The girls must have a built-in "spider radar" since they went bonkers for this poor thing. OK, I did feel slightly badly for the spider pinata -really I did. But I got over the guilt (not big on guilt either) and it is now almost a daily habit. I thought I would try some human food as well. Seeing as fruit has no feelings (as far as I know) I tried a chunk of apple. They fought over that as well, but not with quite as much enthusiasm. When I die, I sure hope I'm not wrong and come back as a spider, or an apple - what a shame that would be!

n.b. shout out to my girl "Zippy" for being my model - she's one hot chick!

Fowl Discrimination

Before being a chicken farmer/mother, I had visions of naming each bird according to looks and mannerisms and personality. Well, as you can see from the photos, they are all black/grey. They all peck and scratch (a new behaviour this week) and make lots of noise (even at 5Am this morning - thanks girls). So basically they are generically named "girls", "chick-chick" or any other foolishness that would surely get me committed somewhere if there were human witnesses. There are 2 stand-outs: the biggest and grey-est is very difficult to catch. I call her Zippy. Now as they are in their awkward teenage phase (apologies to all the awkward teens in my life) they are growing beautiful black with white bar feathers, so Zippy will not be so identifiable for long. At least until we try and catch her. The other one is the smallest and blackest. She is simply called Jr. She is the most curious of the flock and also the nastiest. She takes every human contact opportunity to become a carnivore. When the others peck at me it is cute. When she pecks, she is intending to take a souvenir home - it hurts like anything. Again, Jr. will soon be black and white striped like the rest and will only be identifiable when it is too late.

Love Stinks

My husband, Mr.Brave Chicken Farmer, has been out of town. He is just getting to know "the girls". To be honest, I don't think that they have bonded yet. Case in point: he has been very anxious to get them out of the tv room and into the back porch. Now the back porch is enclosed, but cold and the parking place for bikes and all things gardening. It is essentially our "shed' until Mr.BCF builds one, which follows the coop construction (more blogs to follow on that). The problem is, I don't want my babies in the porch. They will be cold and lonely and I can't pop in to say "hi" when I get up to pee at 3 in the morning. When they grow all their feathers, they can go out to their as-of-yet-not-built-coop. I will have to deal with my separation issues then. Back to Mr.BCF...so I finally asked him what the big rush was in getting the chickens out of our house when they are still so young and vulnerable. Do you know what he said? "It smells like a barn in here." Can you believe it? I think I saw one of them wipe a tear away... Well, I went to work with a will ! I emptied that brooder, scrubbed it down and replenished the floor with fresh pine shavings. It didn't smell for about 7 minutes.
Mr.BCF is right. It does smell like a barn in here.

Primetime Poultry

We have a really old tv. I mean it has to be strapped to the wall so it doesn't tip forward and kill the cat. We never got a lot of stations even though we have one of those modern tv antennas on the roof. Now thanks to the US and going digital (there is a conspiracy there somewhere) we get 3 Canadian stations, one of them in French. I don't mind. I go days without watching tv and I like our local flavour. I'm getting really good at French too. Now, you may be asking, dear reader, "What does this have to do with chickens?" Glad you asked. When you got chickens, you don't need tv. These guys are funny. They are erratic, at times aggressive, unpredictable and cute; something for the whole family. When we put their perch in the brooder, Brave Chicken Farmer jr calls it "the limbo show". They seem really freaked out by this intruder and take turns nervously hopping, walking over or under the stick. We sing the limbo song so they can get into the spirit of things. There's the "try-to-fly-and-land-on-the-thermometer-show", the "peck-crap-off-your-neighbour-show", "The-toss-the-wood-chips-in-the-air-show"...it's like cable. BCFjr and I each pull up a chair, or better yet, he sits on my lap and we watch the poultry equivalent of The Three Stooges as time seems to stop, if only for a moment.

Could a brave chicken farmer ask for anything more?

when good chickens go bad

When one thinks of chickens, images of idyllic farm life come to mind. Things like little red barns and neat stacks of hay, the breeze gently blowing as the contented hens peck at the ground and softly cluck. In reality, chickens are vandals. They destroy all that is in their wicked path. No sooner is the water dispenser out, than they kick sawdust and even do their nasty business in there! They dump their food all over the floor as soon as it is lovingly handed to them. They peck at every square inch of their brood, hoping to break off pieces to stomp all over them . They have taken particular liking to taking turns at drilling at the thermometer with their beaks (I thought they loved it like a mother). They are even trying to fly up and jump on said thermometer - certainly to knock it off the wall and rip it to smithereens. We have placed a bamboo stick in the brooder to help them learn to perch. They mercilessly peck at it and move it about. I think they both fear and hate it. I even caught them "red handed" kicking their nasty business onto the wall. Time to get a gun or a coop.

chicken dreams and other things

Everyday I'm fascinated by these chickens. I stare in wonder at their daily activities. I feel as if I am a discoverer of an ancient civilization or biologist who has stumbled upon a never before seen species. This is the problem with living in the suburbs all my life. I mean, these things stretch their legs and wings, throw their head back to drink, give eye contact (come on, I am their mom), they yawn (very, very cute) and I think I saw one of "the girls" wake up from a dream, dare I say a nightmare. She was sleeping, like they all do in 2 minutes intervals ( no wonder they aren't too bright) and woke with a start. You should have seen the terror in her eyes. I could have sworn I heard a whispered, "No Colonel!"

guess what?...chick butt!

They grow up so fast...I'm not kidding, these things grow daily. The guy at the store told me they would begin to grow adult feathers in 2 or 3 days, "ya, right, what does he know...he's just a hick"

Not so fast oh brave chicken farmer! He's a hick who's lived on a farm all his life and works in a feed store! Sure enough, they started to grow adult feathers, right on schedule. Every day they show signs of adult chicken-ness; taller, less rounded, and acting more like well, a chicken. A couple of days ago I noticed that some of their tails were less like a fluffy bump and more "scruffy". Now, they have been pecking a lot at each other, picking bits of wood shaving off each other and tugging at their sisters' downy fluff. So I chalked up this scraggly tail to an overzealous grooming. Yesterday I noticed that almost all of them had that scraggly tail. Could it be that their tails are growing up? It made me sad. If you lean over I'll whisper something I haven't confessed out loud before: I really love the chicks' butts. What is not to love? They are round and fat and fluffy - like a cute little baby's bum that you want to squeeze, only fluffier and much tinier. I just had to get that off my chest. Thanks for listening

have you ever been to sea, chickie?

I like to tell myself and others that I got these birds for my son. Being a "progressive mom", I want to expose my son to a variety of life experiences. Now, not too far below the surface of my ego (or is it my id?...) lies the fact that I have also done this for my inner child. I will get off the couch to finish the story... After the first day, it seemed that the novelty of having new pets had worn off for my 6 year old. I was feeling rather discouraged since chickens have the life expectancy of a large dog. Now if one of the many neighbourhood cats, possums, raccoons, bald eagles (seriously) have an encounter, all bets are off. But I couldn't wish that upon my new babies - I've bonded and they've imprinted. I also noticed that BCF jr was almost afraid to break one of the chicks. He couldn't wait to wake up or come home from school to "play" with them, but then put them down as quickly as he scooped them up. That could have something to do with the fact that I constantly coached, yelped, scolded as he awkwardly handled these squirmy fowl. Today, however, we have had a breakthrough! BCF jr. discovered that if you placed a chick on his shoulder, they are actually quite calm and happy. One could sit on his shoulder for at least 20 minutes, occasionally preening or pecking at a bug disguised as a freckle. In that moment,BCF jr. fancied himself a bit of a pirate. He frequently stops his train at the imagination station, so the thought of being a pirate really resonates with him. So, in our home, boys are pirates, chickens are parrots and mom is once again a brave chicken farmer, content with her treasures -ahrrrr.

chick, chick, double chick

A conversation with myself, every day, many times a day:

Did I turn off the stove? What if the house burns down? Would the cat survive?

My conversation post-chicken:

Did I turn off the stove? What if the house burns down? Would the chickens survive? And what about the cat? Speaking of the cat, did I shut the "chicken room" door? What if the cat eats one? Could she possibly eat more than two? And what about the warming light? What if it mysteriously falls and lands on a pile of dry kindling and burns the house down ...

As you can see, being an urban chicken farmer has dramatically reduced the stress in my life.

ps props to the artist of the above print, Sarah Pallek.

I gotta vent...

Ok, I was in for all of the cleanin' and waterin' and feedin'. I was even prepared for these things to try and peck my eyes out when I attempt to collect eggs (stay tuned for those future adventures). I was not, however, planning on wiping a chicken's bum. I'm sorry to be so plain, but there is no delicate way to put it. When you give birth to a human child, the motherly instinct to keep them clean and happy seems quite natural (not enjoyable, just normal). Perhaps because I did not hatch these babies, I just don't feel the same way. However I was reading on the interwebs - the place where everyone goes for completely reliable, fully researched and tested information- that if a chick gets a, well dirty bum, and it stays that way, she can't, ummm do her business and well, dies. When you gotta go, you gotta go! I must educate you, my dear reader, seeing as this is on the interwebs as well, that a chicken's posterior is called a "vent" (kinda nice and winsome). Seeing I don't want any of my babies to expire (that would simply crush BCF jr) I was a vigilant poop inspector. The runt had a suspect behind and I went to work...let's just say she was wetter and somewhat cleaner than before...and pretty much hating me. "Madder than a wet hen" has it's roots.

are you my mother?

There was a book I often read as a kid where a baby bird gets separated from his mother (pre-hatch) and tries to find his identity in a cat, a dog, a bulldozer... It ends happily enough, but my point is that birds do have this little built in mechanism to identify with the first "other" that they see and who nurtures them. This is called imprinting (I am not an animoligist, so consider the source). There was a big debate between myself and brave chicken farmer jr. as to who the chickens would bond with. He decided that we would simultaneously open the box and they would magically love and identify with both of us. Now the magic was cast upon us and we were instantly smitten by these little fluffy, noisy critters. They do allow us to hold them -I think they are humouring, if not pitying, us. One did do some nasty business on BCF jr, but I don't think that spells L-O-V-E. "The girls" do seem rather attracted to the digital thermometer in their brooder (plastic box house). They stand around it in packs as if in awe and occasionally peck at it. It reminds me of 2001; A Space Odessy - the large black monolith looming above the creatures - an ominous god of sorts. So I'm really hoping that these chickens will be able to predict the weather with great accuracy. Fresh eggs and a true weather report - what more could you ask for?

chicken eve

I've always wanted to live in the country...or the big city. Seeing as I'm living in a no-man's land between the two, I am venturing into urban chicken farming. It all started when I was bemoaning the fact that my then 5 year old son ate 2 eggs each morning. After receiving the providencial gift of fresh eggs from a neighbour, I was inspired- we shall have our very own chickens! My egg-eating son has been excited for months and tomorrow is the big day that we go "pick up chicks"! I am doing this under a cloak of municiple darkness, however. This is how I will justify my actions before town council: I know exactly where my food comes from (at least in the egg department for now), have pesticide-free pest control (significant, given our provinces wise bans on such chemicals), bond with my family as we teach our son about nature, responsibility and nurturing. Chickens are beautiful, amusing, reduce stress, eat your table scraps..need I go on?

I have been told as well that owning chickens is a spiritual experience. That's where God's forgiveness comes in...