I love my kids, don’t get me wrong. But there are occasions when it would be useful if they were more like the chickens.
I’m thinking particularly in the first instance of Bruce – the boy who will only eat cucumber and potato if we serve it in chunks, boiled & plain, or dressed up to look like chips.
The chickens on the other hand, while also fond of cucumber and potato will have a go at everything I put in front of them.
Being a new chicken owner, I was slightly alarmed one day to notice that one of our chickens had a big lump on her breast. Being a modern chicken owner I immediately Googled “my chicken has a lump on it’s breast” and discovered that this lump was a crop. The crop is a storage tank for the chicken.
It’s a very useful way of knowing that my chooks are well fed and so when they come running towards me in their pre-historic dinosaur way expecting food, I can ignore them and just fossic about for their eggs instead.
There are some days when I dearly wish my kids had a crop. The days when they just go on and on about being starving. If they had a crop I could know instantly if they were putting it on or not.
Mind you, there are a lot of things to find irritating about the chickens. They peck at the flowers on my thongs thinking they are food (and often miss and hit my toes instead). They’ve stripped everything green out of the section of the garden they’ve taken over. They poo in their water and their food and they find crafty new ways to get out of their extensive chicken run (and yet can never seem to find the way back in and so, sit sqwarking like crazy as soon as the sun starts to rise).
At the end of the day I know Bruce will come to like his vegies and they just about know not to ask over and over for something when I’ve said no. They’re not so bad – and are a damn sight more intelligent and funnier than the chooks (and a lot less smelly).