I admit it. I love my chickens.
Not the love that I feel for my husband, the kind that gently holds half my heart, or the love I feel for my kids; that ache of worry and the joy of sharing all wrapped up in one. I don’t love them like I love my dogs; a reciprocal deep friendship that starts over again every morning. I love my chickens like I love a good movie. I can be perfectly content sitting and watching them while they entertain me in their nature channel documentary with laughter, drama and suspense. Like a movie, they pay me no mind at all and move in and out of my emotions without care.