outdoor chickens

I will never be one of those Instagram ladies who put diapers on their chickens and then lets them crawl on their shoulders and sleep on beautiful vintage quilts in their bedrooms. 

People do that. To chickens. 


No. Way. I can't. Their feet are too scaly, they peck at you too much, their wings create way too much airflow and they spend far too much time, uh, fertilizing the yard for me to let them anywhere near my front door, let alone inside.

So there it is. I will never be an Instagram sensation because I like my chickens right where they are and right where they want to be: sleeping in a coop, safe from other animals, at night and chasing bugs and worms around outside during the day. 

Outside. 

Just so that we're clear. 


That's the deal with farm animals: When you're there to work, you work. When you're there to guard the home place and play, you guard and play. When you're there to . . . gain weight and flutter your wings a lot, you're a meat bird. 

Obvs. 

That's the deal. 


And when you're there to be Horace, the lone exotic bird in the bunch, you run faster, preen your spunky spotted feathers, look down your beak at your neighbors and thank the Lord that you don't waddle like those chunky Cornish X Rocks. 

Or something like that.


I like watching our chickens. I like waving to our neighbors driving past on our gravel road. I like seeing people ride horses across the pasture. I like catching our puppies watching our chickens. I like spotting deer saunter through the bottom ground. I like witnessing our peas and corn and tomatoes grow. I like living in the country.

And I like our chickens living outside. 

And that's that.  




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