Our cousin called it nesting – me getting chickens 30 weeks into my pregnancy. Maybe it was in a way, but I am thankful for the fresh eggs we now eat and share with family and friends.
We have the space. Most people have the space. Not all zoning laws permit it, but we have lived back in the country for about a year now, so I decided it was time to have chickens in my life again.
Animals are a commitment. A commitment taken too lightly by too many, but not me. These little prehistoric cousins are spoiled. My husband even has a favorite. And while I do not get to sit with them as long or often now that our baby girl is here, they do not forget their spoiling.
If I open the blinds in our kitchen, they hop outside and come running to the coop door to see what is going on. I roll my window down and tell them goodbye when I leave our house to go to town.
We also have dogs. And we have a dog with an allergy to anything beef, so now the chickens are the recyclers. I have never been good at composting so now I feel better about our kitchen waste.
We are blessed with colorful eggs in cream, brown, and olive. We have pickled them, cured them in salt, and generally eat a lot more eggs than I can ever remember eating. And since I like to chicken fry game meat that needs some help in the palatability department, the eggs are handy to have on the counter.
The other blessing? I can introduce Jurassic Park to the baby in real life. The closest relative to the T-Rex; the chicken will make you wonder if they are plotting to eat you if you just laid down on the grass for a sunny afternoon nap and they somehow flew the coop.
In all reality, as a hunter, it fills my heart to provide for our family without going to the grocery store for everything. I am looking forward to passing on that tradition and teaching our little one where their food comes from. Maybe in a few years, I will start a garden and expand that skill set to our little girl.