Chicken Women: Not a Peck of Sense

Cassidy, the Partridge Wyandotte c.Nancy Shobe

Warning: Do not randomly stop by your local feed store.

I was meandering around town, working my way through my long list of to-do's, when I decided, on impulse, to stop by the feed store. Our local feed store isn't just any feed store. It has a garden area brimming with organic veggies and herbs; a chicken coop filled with a flock of entertaining chickens; and rare flowers blooming with colors I've never seen. Just walking into the place makes me feel like I've entered a respite safe from the crazy world.

Mango, my English Doodle, was joy riding in my car. True, she wasn't stealing the car but sometimes I feel like she is the way dominates it while I'm driving. She hurdles over the wagon seat into the back seat (even though there's a doggy screen separating the two). She paces on the backseat, back-and-forth, back-and-forth. Then, she pokes her nose between the front seats and looks at me and grins. I swear she does. I can see her face in the rearview mirror. Then, she moseys across the center console, sniffs around for treats--sighs-- and then lays down on the front passenger seat. I've tried reprimanding her on many an occasion, but it doesn't work. I think I need a puppy restraining order.

Even though she's not the best behaved car rider (no Puppy Academy gold star winner here), I stopped in for a doggy treat--something to keep her busy during the car ride.

I was evaluating the store bins of treats and carefully avoiding anything that looked or smelled like chicken, when I heard "peep, peep."

"What's that?" I asked the feed store attendee.

"Chicks."

"Chicks?" I asked. "I thought you were finished getting new chicks."

"No. They're coming in for at least another month," he offered.

"Are these turkeys? The last time they were turkeys."

"No, these are chicks, many of them rare."

Rare. That word for me is like pulling the arm on a slot machine and watching the lights blaze "Win."

"Rare?" I asked, my heart beginning to skip a beat.

"Especially the Sicilian Buttercups. . ." he said.

I sauntered over to the large wooden "new chick" box and peered in.

"Look," he said, showing me the book of chickens resting on the platform nearby. "Here are pictures of the chickens along with their descriptions. We have Blue Wyandottes, a Blue
Cochin . . ."

Hook, line, and sinker, the feed store attendee reeled me in.

"I'll take four," I said, interrupting him.

"Four?" he confirmed.

"No, make that five."

And, that's how I came home with five extra chickens, five chickens which I'll be adding to the 11-gal flock when they are old enough. Sixteen chickens. What was I thinking??

Sometimes I think there's not a peck of sense in this head of mine--

but I do have some beautiful chickens! Just take a look for yourself...

Billie Holiday - The Blue Wyandotte