meditation upon the benefits of keeping poultry

The chickens are turning into chickens.

"What an odd thing to say," you mutter to yourself.

Dear reader, worry not - I shall explain.

The chickens, three weeks ago fuzzy chicks, are now flapping around their pen showing off their shiny new feathers and developing combs.

Of course, this means that they have increased somewhat in size and the old rabbit hutch can't quite cut it as chicken house any longer. Logically, this would mean that the chickens could move out to a shed somewhere around the yard - however, since mother nature seems to have decided to give spring a pass this year and just add a couple more months of winter it wouldn't take long before we were left with a flock of poultry-cicles and that seems counterproductive to me.

So last night I renovated the rabbit-hutch-come-chicken-pen.

Originally I had just wanted to find a big, sturdy cardboard box to move them wee birds into. As it would turn out, large chicken-flock sized boxes can be hard to come by.

Kayla came up with the solution - find a box of similar size to the present cage and attach it to the side, thereby doubling the space (thank God for logical wives: I was seriously considering building a gate and giving the chickens the run of that part of the house).

Eventually I did turn up an appropriate box: with the aid of a hunting knife, some chicken wire, and a handful of clothes-pins we rigged up something that looks like it belongs in the slums of Rio, but it works.

The chickens, of course, went nuts. The cardboard box was new for them - they have never encountered cardboard before - and they spent the rest of the night hammering on the cardboard floor of their new home which, because sections of it are suspended off the floor, sounded like a session at the Rhythmically-Challenged-Drummers Convention.

In a world where it seems that everything is falling apart, I feel awfully lucky to be able to come home to my crappy old house and flock of chickens - it's a good place to escape for a little while from indifferent political "leaders" and deteriorating economic conditions.

Being a naturally depressed, pessimistic individual (my normal self would assure you that yes, the glass is indeed half empty and that half-full glasses are statistically improbable) I'm glad I've discovered that a few minutes spent watching chickens can make the world seem less bleak.

Which makes me think that the next great advance in medicine will be the discovery that, instead of writing prescriptions for anti-depressants, someone needs to prescribe more chickens.

Regards from Alberta's brush plain.

spring: when young man's fancy turns to thoughts of construction.

In my quest to live a little more sustainably I've been trying to adopt a do-it-yourself ethic. It's an idea that I admire and one that, to a great extent, I was raised with.

There's just one problem. When it comes to doing some things myself I really suck.

Now, you can't say that I'm incompetent. I am not an un-handy guy - my wife can attest to the fact that I have successfully repaired her car on more than one occasion, that I fixed all the ceilings in our house before we moved it, or that I repaired our roof in a wind storm with no incident.

On the other, if you asked her she would point out that every board I cut ends up being too short, that there is not a level surface in our house, and that pieces of the kitchen wall fall off from time to time.

A shame, because I always fancied myself having the potential to be a fine carpenter.

My handyman-wannabe heart rejoices, however, when I look at the list of things I need to accomplish over the next few months. Sometime between now and July I need to rebuild the corrals around my yard and construct at least five portable chicken huts. Sometime in the next couple of weeks I need to repair the circuit breakers in my house so that our deep-freeze works. Sometime before the fall I need to build a full-blown chicken coop.

As I sit here and make my list I tear up with joy. Think of all the wood I get to cut! All the right angles I get to construct! Paint to be applied and wires to be soldered - it warms the cockles of this farm boy's heart.

Fear not, dear reader - yours truly is used to the jeers of the doubters: per usual, I shall overcome.

So let the neighbours laugh at my un-level construction projects; let them scorn the sparks that fly from my electrical repairs.

I'm being self-sufficient, dammit.

Besides, my chickens and I think your arrow straight fence and skillful soldering don't look so hot either.

Regards from Alberta's brush plain.

so, last week i met these really hot chicks....

i have a confession to make. i like chickens.

i never really expected to enjoy chickens this much. chickens were always something that i saw once in a while, perhaps threw some blades of grass to at a neighbour's house, maybe saw at local agriculture events. they were enjoyable, but ultimately forgettable. having chickens is a whole different ball park.

when we picked up twenty little chicks last weekend i did it in the thought that this would be a good way to become a little more self-sufficient - you know, use up some food scraps and grow some eggs, live a little closer to the way our ancestors did.

now i understand how they lived so well without tv.

i've never been a tv fanatic. it's a good way to pass a few minutes in the evening after work and that's about it. i enjoy a little simpsons, sometimes a little david suzuki, but not much more than that.

having chickens is a bit like watching most extreme elimination challenge, the sopranos, and the parliamentary channel all at the same time - some of them are running a pointless obstacle course, some are plotting brutal revenge on their neighbours, and others are arguing over the leftover crumbs at the bottom of the box, all while someone else is falling asleep in the background.

of course, it's not that easy keeping these chickens. being but wee chicks yet it seems that every draft gives them a chill, that the pangs of hunger strike them constantly, or that their heat lamp is disturbing their beauty sleep. it keeps us on our toes. there are wood shavings mysteriously spreading throughout our house. my pockets are full of chicken feed. our cats have turned into death-plotting machines. but that's just a part of the fun.

so, i'll admit it. i like keeping chickens. you may scoff at me and my rural ambition, but i'm having a blast. besides, can you tell me when was the last time that a chicken crapped in your hand?

i can.