As frequent readers of this blog may have surmised, I am prone to what I like to call topics. Areas of interest that I read up on, research and talk incessantly about for a period of months and sometimes years.
Chickens has been one of my more long-standing topics. And my belief that The Mom’s house would be vastly improved if we kept one or two in the back is a troubling subject. For The Mom, mind, I think it’s a great idea, for several reasons, which I shall now lay-out so that you can judge for yourselves.
The Mom is a fan of any half-cocked (no pun intended) vaguely hippie-esq scheme, particularly when it involves animals and or birds.
Thus, the idea of keeping one or two – I freely admit that anything more would be ridiculous – in the backyard is totally in keeping with her style. Many an article has been written of late in the papers about urban farming and this includes the raising of chickens.
The Mom is also a fan of cute objects. Thus, my fascination with the Omlet Eglu ought to have had her rushing to the internet to procure one or two (as they come in many fetching colours). I mean, it’s the only chicken house in the Victoria & Albert Museum. They have a chicken chauffeur who will bring you everything you need to get started – including chickens! This company – which I am currently in love with – also make a Beehaus and some kind of outdoor hamster storage unit. Though I think eventually it would be reasonable enough to branch out into an apiary – especially considering the lack of bees these days (another topic) – I am willing to forego the hamster unit. We’ve already had hamsters and they weren’t as interesting as I’d anticipated.
The Mom is a lover of birds. Chickens are birds. And these ones wouldn’t even live inside (except, of course, when I was home because I would probably have to study their habits and see what they might do, if, say, given sovereignty of an afternoon in the bathtub).
And they wouldn’t be a complete drain on financial resources as they would produce eggs. Which we could eat. All of us. Even the vegetarians. The added bonus would be that none of us are allergic to them. And there are few things in life that fall into that category.
But the main reason that I do believe The Mom’s life would be much better off if she had two hens, is that it would be hilarious. And that is the reason we do pretty much everything in life. Think of the entertainment value!
The Mom out rummaging about in a hot-pink Eglo for her morning eggs! The Mom rushing about the yard shouting after the hens, who would of course, have absurd names. Something like, Mary Queen of Scots and Robert The Bruce. (Yes, I realise those are a female and male name, but trust me, that sort of logic has never held our family back). Or maybe Gertrude Stein and Alice B Toklas.
“Alice B Toklas you come back here right now! Stop pecking at the tulips!”
I’ve no idea if a chicken would peck at a tulip, but Poochie and I used to get in a heap of trouble every spring when they came up. When The Mom went out to run her errands the year I was living there, Poochie and I would seize the moment and go out for a snack. The expression on The Mom’s face when she came home and found us eating the tulips was priceless. They’re sweet – the stems taste like sugar snap peas.
“Gertrude Stein, leave the duck food alone!”
“Alice B Toklas do not chase the chipmunks!”
Then, when winter comes, though the Eglu would no doubt provide adequate comfort, The Mom might be convinced that her hens were chilly and be persuaded (ie one would have to get her fairly drunk and in the mood to do something foolish) and then we could bring the chickens inside!
I mean, what could be better than reading a book in front of a roaring fire, in the midst of a snowy evening with two hens curled up at one’s feet?
What I find most amazing is the fact that The Mom has not sussed that my love of chickens comes completely and wholeheartedly from an entertainment point alone. Sometimes – in fact, let’s be honest here – most times, all a thing needs to do to be impressive is be awesome.