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