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Chickens

No recipe, but I thought I’d post something about where I live and do the vast majority of my cooking. So here is a small part of my home.

We own chickens. And boyhowdy are they dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. You don’t get much stupider than a Stupid Chicken. My friends growing up thought they were the coolest things known to man and when they’d sleep over they just HAD  to let them out in the morning. This being one of my alternating chores, which I may or may not have done, I was all to happy to let my friends do my chore for me.

They live out in our back forty in coop with a large fenced in yard, which the young whippersnappers always fly to coop (Get it? chickens..coops? Over done? Moving right along…), and the older ones just kinda hang out in the yard and eat what grub and chicken scratch they can find. So they inhabit our yard and we ignore them until they either start cackling like hens in a barn when they’re not inside or they start trying to get through our back door to get inside at night. Oh stupid chickens.

 
Aforementioned stupid chickens, they are however, not cackling in a barn…or in their hen house as the case may be.
 
This, one, she’s look looking at me side ways. She’s four and a half months old. She and the others we got at the same time won’t start producing eggs for about another two to three months.
 
This is our rooster, Spatz. He’s one mean son of a gun. I think he has a Napoleon complex. He likes to think he’s big and strong and charge at me when I’m LETTING HIM OUT or GIVING HIM FOOD. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you stupid chicken. So I just punt him to show whose boss around here. Over the fifteen or so years we’ve had chicken we’ve had about 5 roosters and we’ve never had any baby chicks. Silly roosters.
 
These two? Well they flew the coop. They’re out on the lam. Until night falls and the light in their hen house pops on. Then they’ll run back to its safe confines and play poker on the roost until the lights turn off. At least that’s what I’ve been told by my father. And he’d never lie to me. Or they’re REALLY  stupid and try to get into our kitchen because they’ve missed the light in their house. Stupid bird brains.
And because I couldn’t just leave you with a post just about cute chickens and chickens with Napoleon complexes. I leave you with this to ponder: 

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