Chickens have grown on me over the years, I’ve had them for a long time now, and I appreciate their sense of purpose, industry and gravitas. This morning a big bug landed on the back of the white men and she turned around quickly and ate it. There is no confusing the purpose of chickens, it is to eat, and then find some nice cool resting spots to retreat to and look out at the world. When we open up the coop in the morning – our chickens have the run of the place all day – the hens head right for the water bowl and tank up, then they scour the grounds looking for bugs and seeds. They are efficient eating machines, they scratch for food with their feet and their heads go up and down all day.

They are now part of the thread and fabric of the place, I can’t say I love them but I am fond of them. We stopped naming the chickens because so many were getting eaten by one thing or another, and since we stopped naming them only one has died, and that of natural causes.