Poultry Tales

My family is watching our friends' three chicks this week. They're staying in a crate next to my sister's bed. Pure adorableness.

Despite this big "suburban chicken craze" that has supposedly been sweeping the nation, we don't own any chickens.
In fact, we don't own any "farm" animals- unless you count the dog. I don't.

Needless to say, having three baby chickens upstairs has been quite the sensation around here. I understand that poultry-in-the house is not a new concept for many of you.

But if you are a suburbanite like I am- you'll understand how novel these creatures are.

My siblings were intrigued:

Jerome (2) calls anything with a beak a "duck." He comes into my room and gazes reverently at the chicken-wire cage, occasionally reaching out to touch it.

Gabe (10) seems to think they are baby falcons. "Mom, look! It's perching on my arm!"

Personally, I'm just wondering how little balls of fuzz can be so darn cute. I'm also wondering why they have a tendency to poop on the carpet when we take them out of the cage.

I guess freedom and nature call at the same time.

Last year I visited my cousins and went out to the yard to see their new birds. My young cousin unexpectedly picked up a big chicken, and after letting out a emphatic yell, launched the creature up into the air. It came sailing back down to earth, completely and utterly unperturbed.

I can assure you it went on to get married, have 20+ children, and live a generally prosperous and happy life. (But that is just a very random guess, you know.)

I have no way of confirming that this was the aforementioned bird:

But I think it perfectly captures the mood of that particular chicken that day.

It was indeed one giant step for chickenkind.