Having chickens that you’ve held since chick-hood means having some pretty tame chickens.
Hester and Rosie race up to us whenever we go into the backyard so we can pet them. I managed to capture these charming photos of Brontë snuggling Hester on the backyard baby gate.
What I didn’t manage to capture, despite my best efforts, was Hester rubbing her chicken face back and forth against Brontë’s forehead. Dang it, that was precious… we’re talking viral, give-you-instant-cavities cuteness. Top shelf adorable.
The chickens are soft, cuddly and follow us whoever we go. The only real downside to keeping them is my not being able to eat chicken anymore. Of course, it doesn’t help that I had a freak aversion to chicken during pregnancy (it all tasted rotten and horrible) and I still can’t forget it.
I realize this is illogical, since I eat meat and just happen to have chicken pets. I’m sure cows are really nice too. It’s just tough to eat chickens once you have a couple of sweet ones running around your yard that have bonded with your kids.
We do have some killer, free-range organic eggs, at least. So many that we’ve started bartering them. John has a coworker that keeps bees, so we are trading eggs for honey. I’m getting all kinds of crazy gardening and soap-making fantasies, but we will try to take things one step at a time…