Chicken Lady

Working on the coop and hanging out with the chickens is kind of like therapy for me – always something to work on where I can be busy with my hands, not think a whole lot, and get lost in what I’m doing. I like that. If I could only justify more hours spent out there and less, well, other places, life would be grand.

But then people might start calling me the Chicken Lady – and we already have one of those here. She’s buried on the front forty near the waterfront in the Union Star Cemetery. So maybe we should go on and get that goat – I could get behind being the Goat Lady….

(Give me a break – it’s late.)

I say all that to bring you this, something almost totally unrelated. My kid really loves his chickens – all the way down to raking out pine shavings and filling (and emptying) their feeders. He’ll be a good little farm boy yet.

“kih-kin!”
Good afternoon, Agnes…
Toes do not equal worms, chicken.
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