Other Writings

House Guests

Sad to say, but the house guests have gone home. Since last Thursday, five baby Ameraucana chicks have been snuggling in a box on the kitchen floor, awaiting their trip to my dad’s flock in Wisconsin. Despite warnings to avoid attachment and excessive tending, I gave them all names and spent the better part of the weekend monitoring their every peep.

How could you not want to hold a little fuzz ball like this? And with a name like Audrey the II, Petunia, Agnes, Bernice, or Mary Margaret it’s hard not to want a whole coop full of hens.

After the chicks were safely buckled in and drove away, the tears started flowing. “sniffle…sob…Why do I live in a…sniffle…silly town house…sniffle…where I can’t have a…sniffle…coop and chickens of my own?…sob…sniffle” Sometimes life just doesn’t seem fair. If you live in Minneapolis or St. Paul, there are regulations that support raising urban chickens. You need a little bit of space, a little bit of feed and supplies, and a whole lot of love. In return you get a daily supply of fresh, healthy eggs. Although I can’t have my own flock now, the next real-estate deal in my future include a spot for a coop. I just can’t resist.


Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.