I just found this post I never published from 2015. It made me miss my chickens. A LOT. I don’t miss the 5:00 a.m. crowing. I don’t miss late night bumblefoot operations. I don’t miss giant chicken snakes (or small chicken snakes for that matter). I don’t miss chicken poop. I don’t miss panic attacks whenever I saw a stray dog, soaring hawk or prowling bobcat. I don’t miss nasty chicken waterers. I don’t miss unexpected funerals. Raccoon attacks. Rooster fights.
Every time I think about time in terms of a year, I think about the theme song from Rent. Which I’ve never actually seen but I know all the songs. Because I’m nerdy like that. It goes like this…….. Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes. Five hundred twenty five thousand moments so dear.…
My family and I recently returned from our annual elk hunting trip. It was one for the books, in so many ways. More on that in another post. On my way home, a good friend, who knows the trouble I have saying “NO” sent me this picture. My first thought was this is a great…
The Wicked Chicken 