Chickens, it’s a genetic thing

I believe that I inherited my fascination with chickens for my grandmothers.  Here is a picture of my mother’s mother standing by her chicken yard in Louisville. 


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Her mother, my great grand mother, also kept chickens.  Here she is below.




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On my father’s side of the family, his sisters have told me that their mother kept chickens.   I wish I had a picture of that.


But somehow chickens totally skipped my parents.    Thank goodness it didn’t skip me and thank goodness I live somewhere, where the chickens roam free.



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There are three now on the property.  The grey one was attacked by a dog and killed.  NOT NERONE!  And Nerone must have been inside, because he would have raised the alarm if he had seen it. 


This big white hen treats me like a food ATM.  Running over whenever she sees me come out in to the yard.  I admit to being a soft touch  and maybe slipping her a little leftover rice or something.  And it is good exercise for her to run over to me.  Honest to goodness I can hear her STOMPING along.  The earth doesn’t quite shake but it won’t be long before it does with her weight. 


So the chicks, Ben and I are patiently waiting for spring.  There was a threat of snow these past few days but we managed to escape it.  But now I have to figure out a way to keep these free roamin’ chicks out of my flowers!


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