Considering the recent soaring notoriety of our feathered friends due to Pepino and Tricolore, I thought it was a good time to make a confession.
I love chickens.
There, I said it. I absolutely adore them. I love their fluffy bums and their crowing and their shiny feathers, and they are the epitome of hilarity when they run. They are a total delight. I have tried in vain to get my flatmates to adopt one. They are not keen. I don’t understand it.
We had an extremely miserly bantam called Miss Chook when I was growing up, who features frequently in my grandmother’s poems. Miss Chook loved lettuce, seeds, and pecking the cats’ tails, and hated humans. I carried her everywhere. She used to bounce on the trampoline with me. She had personality, that chook.
I bought my dad this book for Christmas last year. He is a fowl fancier too.
Mum used to have Gold and Silver Wayandottes. So cool!
I wonder if my new flatmates will let me have a chicken in Canada…
Ohh, I love chickens, too. (Actually, I love all birds.) A friend has a phobia about chickens; you can probably imagine the amount of hassling she gets from us. 😉 Alas, I don’t have hens of my own but love the Happy Hens collection and adore the ceramic Pencilled Hamburg that sits above my fridge.
We have seven running around our back yard… 2 Rhoade Island Red Hens, One Rhoade Island rooster, full size… Four Bantam hens two silky and I can’t rember what the other two are… 🙂
I love chickens! All birds, really. In Zimbabwe we had seven chickens, four bantams, two guinea fowl, a peacock, twelve lovebirds, a cockatiel and an Africa Grey Parrot. 🙂 Can’t quite get that many here, but I would love to keep chickens again.