The Chickens

It all started with my mom. She had a lovely Spring decoration on her door that had some cute eggs. She decided to tell Noa that the eggs would hatch. Daily, Noa wanted me to call Yai Yai and find out if the chicks had hatched yet. We thought she would forget eventually but the concern over the hatching of the eggs continued.

My mom, my wife, myself, I’m not sure really who to blame at this point, decided that we should get some chicks. I was on board, I liked the idea of fresh eggs and my kids learning a little about homesteading. So I researched the best egg producing breeds and with the support and enthusiasm of my wife, we got chickens. Four, in fact. Noa named them, Lilo (yellow), Stitch (yellow), Scooter (red) and Hei Hei (‘boat snack!’)


Except with chickens comes salmonella, and with salmonella comes OCD and hand-sanitizing and ‘don’t kiss the chickens,’ and ‘Atticus, why are you naked on the chicken coop?’ And then I realized I had a newborn and four pooping, salmonella producing chickens. I bought a giant bottle of hand sanitizer, every time the kids were within a foot of the coop we sanitized. I sanitized the door handle. I made sure Betsy sanitized and washed after handling the chickens.

Don’t get me wrong, I like the chickens. Although I feel like I’m competing with them for my wife’s attention. She LOVES the chickens. In a way that one might love their dog. An animal you can kiss and cuddle and don’t typically have to worry about getting a disease from. And they love her. She can get them to follow her to the coop while the rest of us literally chase them in circles. They’re alright, although I’m still waiting on the eggs.

Update: I recently spotted hawks on the roof of the neighbor’s house. I mentioned this to Betsy in passing. She now counts the chickens multiple times when they roam the backyard. Obsessed I tell you.

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