Which Came First?

One of the most long standing riddles about chickens is the proverbial, “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” For me, it was most definitely the chick(en). I should actually say the chicks. Eight of them. Eight adorable, noisy little balls of downy fluff that took up residence in a feed trough in my daughter’s bedroom.

I had wanted chickens for years, but having a small backyard flock wasn’t permitted in our HOA community. So, once my husband and I relocated, chicken fever hit and hit hard! There were always the obvious reasons why raising chickens wasn’t a good idea: the cost of feed, the cost of the coop and the precious footprint a coop would consume in our small backyard, the noise, the smell… the list goes on. But once the chicken fever has hit, none of that matters. It’s almost like my brain wouldn’t listen to reason. All it could hear was the tiny little peeps.

It happened. My husband was at a job site several hours away (and wouldn’t be home for days!) when our local Tractor Supply started their yearly Chick Days! sale. Minimum purchase of four. City maximum allowance of eight. Eight – the magic number, the number my husband came home to. Eight, the number of chicks he found while following the suspicious chirping sounds and the glow of the red brooder lamp emanating eerily from our daughter’s room.

He still gives me grief for having chickens in the house, but I remind him they were babies. In a brooder. Contained. It’s not like I was letting them free-range through the living room. The wild journey to becoming the crazy chicken lady began four years ago. Chicken math is real, people! Four plus four does NOT equal eight. Four years later and the original number has been taken over like the miracle of the loaves and fishes. Eight turned into ten (shh! don’t tell the health and code enforcement officer!), and ten turned into … 52! Fifty-two fluffy feathered fannys flouncing up and down our pasture chasing us for treats.

Welcome to the hen party, Mother Cluckers!