Last year my Mother in Law finally got her much longed for chickens. She'd been talking about getting them for as long as I've known her - so last summer my sister in law and brother in law spent two weeks building the coop, and Judy (Mother in Law) spent much time cuddling the chicks and nearly instituted world war three when she insisted they needed to stay in the kitchen. Bob (Father in Law) wasn't impressed.
The end result is now we have the calmest, friendliest chickens you've ever met. You can pick them up, they don't peck - and to be honest, I'm not even sure they know they're chickens. My dear daughter, who's three, thinks they're the best thing going - her most favourite thing to do is collecting the eggs.
Unfortunately, it means we've ended up with pet chickens. I made the mistake of suggesting that maybe we should eat a few as we have new chicks hatching - and honestly - you'd think I'd suggested eating the dog.
Of course, the one chicken even I could never eat is Conversation Piece. You can see how she got her name:
Every couple of weeks, she'll lay one very tiny, very round egg. Apart from that, she serves no useful purpose, apart from strutting about, showing off, and inviting the attention of the rooster.