Chicken and Egg - Janice Cole [6]
I didn’t aspire to have chickens as pets; except for cats I wasn’t that much of an animal lover. Dogs scare me, fish are a lot of work for no return, and although I’d let the kids keep their share of hamsters and rats, the eeeek! factor still got me. I wanted chickens for only one reason—really good eggs.
I couldn’t understand why Marty didn’t automatically share my passion. I thought it would be fun, the perfect project to do together. Maybe that’s what worried him. Perhaps the idea of mucking out a chicken coop was more than he could bear. Mucking about with anything has never been his idea of fun. For instance, he can’t remember, even as a boy, ever playing in the mud. I think it has to do with his Scandinavian-Germanic heritage, or maybe with being raised Lutheran. Garrison Keillor has elevated Scandinavian Lutherans to comedic heights. But really. Have you ever noticed how everything is so darn tidy and neat and organized in a Lutheran church? Far different from the jumbled, statue-filled, incense-fogged Slavic churches of my childhood.
I thought keeping a few chickens in the back was a reasonable idea. What Marty didn’t know was that deep down I really wanted goats. Imagine making your own goat cheese.
In the end, Marty and I settled our differences by agreeing to disagree. He could sense my passion building, and he sighed with resignation, “Well, if you really want to do this, that’s fine. Just remember that they’ll be your chickens. Don’t involve me in it!”
“No problem,” I said defiantly. The fact that I knew nothing about chickens didn’t bother me. How hard could it be? As the snow began to fall, I made plans. Spring should be the perfect time to get chickens.
I’m not an impulse shopper. I carefully research every important purchase I make, compare several stores, look online, and locate the best deal. Then I think about it. That’s why what happened next was so out of character.
I planned to get the chicks in May. The weather would be warm, they’d be able to go outside, and I’d have eggs by summer. I wanted baby chicks. The reason? Deep down I was really quite afraid of chickens, especially large grown-up hens. I couldn’t imagine holding a large chicken. My plan was to bond with the chicks when they were tiny, and hopefully we’d all learn to get along together.
Although I hadn’t done all my usual research, I figured there was plenty of time. I did sign up for a one-night adult-education course in March at a Minneapolis inner-city school on keeping city chickens. I assumed I’d be one of a couple of students, but the class filled to capacity with a wide range of people. Who knew? By the end of the night my head was overloaded, but two things stood out: (1) Keeping chickens is less work than having a dog; (2) I knew that I had to get my chicks immediately.
When I got home, I burst through the door shouting, “Did you know chickens don’t start laying until they’re at least five months old?” Without waiting for Marty’s response, I continued, “That means if I don’t get chicks until May they won’t lay until October, when there’s less light, the temperatures are cool, and they naturally start laying fewer eggs.” Marty continued watching a basketball game on the television, not really responding, until I said, “That means I have to get the chicks this weekend!” Then he sat up. “You’re kidding, right?” A few days later I was the proud owner of three baby chicks.
CHAPTER TWO
Early Spring
“Hello, this is Clare from Omlet. What can I do to help you?” Her British accent sent tingles up my spine. I’m a sucker for anyone with a British accent. I think some Americans must buy the English-designed Eglu coop just to talk to Clare on the phone. Making no effort to hide the excitement in my voice, I ordered my Eglu.
I decided to go with