Fowl Business

I will begin with a disclaimer and apology today. To those of you who have listened to my endless chatter and talk of dreams of chicken ownership, you were great friends. After reading this blog you will be hitting the great unfriend button of life because after countless hours of waxing poetic about the joy of chicken ownership, I have realized my folly.

It seems romantic and glamorous on film. Zha Zha made it look whimsical and fun. I even have a visual of Miley Cyrus on a tire swing, young and carefree (pre-turk of course) feeding chicks and bringing joy to the hearts and lives of pre-teen girls everywhere by producing eggs for consumption. I imagined myself flinging grain and baring my soul to the beasts as they gently click and coo around me, obviously understanding the turmoil of a young mother and the hardships I face. But what Ms. Gabor and poor little misguided Miley omit in the fanciful forays in fowl life is the poop.

We all do it. If you want to be a living organism you must commit 20 seconds to 45 minutes to the task daily. Some animals stop in the woods, some read a book others answer questions like where are the sneakers I wore last Thursday and how do they make margarin. (Cause mom is clearly a captive audience at that point) I understand the need, but a nice quiet throne room with candles and matches should be the goal not my front porch, back porch, and once in my shoe which was under my kitchen table. These birds are the greatest escape artists ever. I’m pretty sure they are plotting with graphs and charts as I am writing this. We wire and re-wire and nail and staple but the little slop-suckers keep escaping! How? After escaping they must immediately evacuate their bowels…everywhere! Why? I’m losing my mind! Even the 15 month old screams no and chases them now. It is a great exercise plan (running while bent over flailing your arms, it’s like planking…only better and with yelling). It is chicken pandamoneum here. And what do we have to show for it? 2 eggs every other day. Wah wah wah…

So, to all my friends out there who heard my cries for chicken and prayed with me to have the joy of my heart…I’m sorry. And to those friends who are drinking the cool-aid and seeing chicken ownership as an investment in your future happiness, don’t believe the hype. Just like Zha Zha and Miley, it can go very bad.