At our house in Colorado, we lived on forty acres, with five miles to the nearest neighbor. Our chickens could wander free range all day, tucked into their coop for safety at night.
When I had leftovers or scraps to get rid of, I carried them outside. One or two of the chickens might be in sight, pecking nearby. I called out, "Here, Chicky, Chicky." From wherever, the rest would all appear, like gawky long-legged girls, their skirts held up, their legs stretched out, racing with long strides to get to me first. I laughed at their antics as they crowded in for the food I dropped on the ground. Their appreciative clucks and squawks were really just greed. They would devour everything and peck over the area for more crumbs, challenging each other for any morsel. We never had too many leftovers - those girls would eat anything. I don't remember how that process started, but it became a funny routine.
I miss having chickens, their funny, contented clucking and their silly faces. Hope someday I'll have a few again, maybe in a small, cute backyard coop.
This weekend the boys took care of our neighbor's chickens. They have a backyard coop, well fenced against our local citified coyotes and skunks. We enjoy the fresh, colorful eggs, the natural beauty of the greens and browns and soft blues. It made me remember our chickens, and the eggs we used to collect.