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After our beloved greyhound Clay passed away, the spacious backyard at my parents house has been vacant.  Clay used to entertain us with his goofy antics and his short but amazingly fast sprints around the yard, like he was back on the track again.  Not wanting another dog, my mother decided to get animals that gave back in a completely different way: chickens.

I suppose they aren’t completely different than dogs.  Sure, they have feathers and will eventually lay eggs, but my mother worked very diligently to socialize her hens.  They don’t come when their name is called (and how many dogs do?) but pull out a tub of dried meal worms and they’re all over you.


Of course, she can’t enjoy them by herself.  I am thoroughly convinced my love of animals is genetically derived and it was also passed to my daughters.  They are all quickly becoming crazy chicken ladies.


Some of the hens and a rooster made their way home with us.  I wasn’t particularly looking to adopt any more animals this year but how could I say no?  They really don’t take up that much space, are great for preening the yard for bugs and what could be more nostalgic than a rooster crow to start the morning on the farm?


Everybody’s all settled in at home.  We still need to construct a roost and a nesting box but the hens are smothered daily with ample amounts of attention and affection, whether they like it or not.

Cousins aren’t immune from holding the chickens either.

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Welcome to the farm!

True stories of raising children, remodeling, braving the elements and plotting out life, all while living on a humble acreage in central Indiana.

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