I can remember lying down on the kitchen floor with my head pressed against the glass of the chickens’ incubator, smiling and giggling with satisfaction over such fascinating and incredibly adorable creatures. Today I press my head up against the window with the same feelings as I watch my very own chickens enjoy a roll in the dirt and bask in the sun.
In my younger years, I grew disinterested in the chickens after they grew out of their fuzzy fur. There was something about their behavior once they matured that made me nervous. An aggressive rooster certainly didn’t help the cause.
Soon after settling in my own on place in the country, I felt an urge to complete my backyard with these feathered friends. This time my approach was different, I felt maternal about the addition of these six little fuzzy balls of life. I was determined to interact with them on a different level as chicks, so that I wouldn’t be so nervous around them once they matured. I wanted to connect with them, and get to know them well enough to tell them apart from each other. I took on the role of mother hen, and fell in love with them.