The chicken goes cluck-cluck. (Unless it goes ARRRKK!)

So Dad and I have decided to raise chickens. Get ready for comedy. I never knew there was that much to it, even growing up on a farm and in fact chasing chickens around when I still cried over getting pulled down off high gates. (Yeah, I know, Joe had to do that just last week, but still…) There’s what breed to get, what kind of housing, layers or fryers or both, organic, semi-organic, or factory farmed. All the confusing decisions I make over which kind of eggs to buy in the grocery store seem to compound when contemplating our new chicken endeavor. We agree we want them outside and would like a mix of layers and fryers. But the kind of fencing, permanent or moveable coop, all that kind of shit, indeed what to do with the shit, are almost overwhelming in their options. That must be the great thing and awful thing about chickens: how versatile they really are.

Gram is going to have a fit.

Just wait until Dad brings home the two piglets. She’ll move to Ohio with my aunt and cousins.

But Dad and I are really excited. Chickens bring a whole new element to our ever-changing holistic farm plan. I can’t wait to let the chickens mulch the manure pile and garden. I’m lazy, so the more fertilization and composting the damn chickens can do, the more excited I am. And all the food scraps will have a home. And hopefully the chickens help with insects and stuff around the farm, like mites and midges that hassle the cattle and horses in the summer, that kind of thing. Besides, the best part, baby chicks. They are soooooo cute! Maybe I can get Dad talked into some ducks next… ;-)