100 baby chickens.

I have mixed emotions about chickens. On the one hand, the babies are cute. And for some reason I’m unable to comprehend, raising chickens is becoming more and more popular. Kids seem to love them.

I don’t know why.

When I was in elementary school, my mother decided we would raise chickens so she sent away for one hundred baby chickens. They arrived but the weather wasn’t warm enough to let them stay in the chicken coop at the edge of our yard so she fashioned a huge box and put it in a corner of our kitchen. And we lived with one hundred baby chickens in our kitchen until they could move outside.

That was a long time!

They were cute, I’ll give you that. And their peeping was also cute. But when they moved outside, they grew up to become large, full-grown chickens that laid eggs that we kids gathered on a daily basis. It was our chore.

Do you know how nasty chickens can be? How strongly they can object to being moved to see if there are eggs under them? How unhappy they can act if you take their eggs? How much it hurts being pecked?

As you might guess, I don’t have the fondest memories of chickens. In fact, I’m happy to let all the grand-kids who raise chickens ‘teach’ me all about their chickens while I watch from a safe distance and cheer them on in their chicken-raising endeavors.

Still, I do like eggs and am grateful that chickens exist every time I eat a couple.

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