The missus recently got the urge for fresh eggs. Now, normally that means we could hit the local farmer’s market or take a road trip to a rural farm. That’s not how my wife operates. She did some serious web surfing and learned we could have our own fresh eggs courtesy of a small chicken coop and a quartet of hens.
I told her I wasn’t too keen on the idea. Then, after we talked about it some more, I said “no” a little louder.
Our lives are so full at the moment I consider it a minor victory if I have time to check both Facebook AND Twitter in a single day. We just can’t squeeze four more critters into our daily regimen.
Ironically, I grew up with a large chicken coop in our backyard on Long Island. My father built a sturdy, shed-sized coop for our dozen-plus chickens. They gave us so many fresh eggs we were constantly giving away dozens of eggs to friends and neighbors. The downside? I have distinct memories of shoveling wood chips coated with bird droppings out of the shed every month. I can still recall that awful, acidic smell decades later.
My wife doesn’t let go of projects easily, which is code for, “she reads this blog religiously and hates when I call her ‘stubborn.'” I also trust her not to overload our lives any more than necessary. Plus, she isn’t a dog person but let me bring a puggle into our home without complaint.
I owe her one – or four, to be exact.
“I’m probably more excited than an adult should be about the chickens,” she said today while putting the finishing touches on the coop. We’re going to wait until the weather gets a wee bit warmer before buying the chicks, but my wife’s plucky spirit tells me we already made the right decision.