When I was 10, my friend’s family had chickens and ducks, right in the middle of a Dublin suburb. They used to wander around the shed and back garden and I loved to be with them and eat their delicious eggs.
Every weekend I went to one or another aunt’s house and my favorite was ‘the country cousins’. They lived on twenty acres and had chickens, dogs, cats, geese, even pigs at one point. We kids used to help with the hay bailing in the summer and we’d swim in the lake to cool down. The life seemed idyllic to me.
Perhaps one of these delightful memories instigated my desire for chickens, I’m not sure, but I have nurtured it for decades. As we moved from base house to base house, from one no-chicken suburb to another, I longed for chickens. And now here we are, out in the middle of nowhere, in a new home with a coop included.
The first thing we did in our new home was to get 6 chickens.
But here’s the secret, I was scared. Scared I would not like them, scared they would not like me. I wondered if I really had the mettle to own, nurture and raise chickens. And then I shook myself awake.
Seriously??? This is what you’re afraid of???
Chickens have been around for a lo-o-o-ng time, they are well capable of surviving. I raised four children to adulthood with only the occasional fuck-up. We’ll do just fine together, these beautiful birds and me.
And so far (a whopping 4 days!!), we are indeed doing just fine.
I have a stool in the corner of the coop where I sit and chat with them and try to pet them. They seem to be settling in to their new home, they are eating the scraps I bring out to them and some of them even seem to approach looking for a gentle backrub.
I think this chicken thing will be great. Now, if I could just come up with names for them!