Chickens
LaPriel and the kids want pet chickens. I have tried to no avail to explain the phrase pet chicken is an oxymoron. Chickens don’t cuddle, they don’t do tricks, you can’t take them for walks. They just cluck and lay eggs. Besides they are illegal in our little Idaho town. LaPriel and the kids point out that if you raise chickens for 4H club purposes the city won’t prosecute you.
At the park last Friday, we met a woman who had brought her long-haired Chihuahua and grandchild to play. Breanna tried to pet the dog, but it ran off. The woman called her dog a chicken; which is how we got to conversing with her about our family considering an investment in poultry. I was ready for the woman to give us the “you can’t be serious” look and slowly ease her grandchild to other side of the playground.
Instead, she reminisced about the pet chickens she owned in San Francisco. How she would carry them around and pet them, how excellent they were at fertilizing the lawn, and the delightful eggs they produced. I was the only one that noticed this woman actually looked like a chicken when she said this. Her chest was puffed out and she placed her hands on her waist and stuck out her elbows as if forming wings. They say if you keep a pet long enough you will begin to look like it.
The chicken lady provided some sage advice, which I warmly pass onto those of you considering purchasing a pet chicken this Easter eve.
Always buy adult hens because if you buy them as chicks you can’t distinguish baby hens from baby roosters. And unlike chickens, roosters make lousy pets.
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