I live in the city, on the edge of a forest, so I think I have the best of all worlds. My backyard is bordered by wild blackberries and butts up to another county, which allows for the raising of small livestock. My neighbors on the other side of the blackberries own one of Portland's hidden jewels; a 5-acre partially wooded farm, just a 10-minute drive into the city.
The neighbors have five chickens and one rooster. They used to have six chickens, but the white one died in a snow bank this winter. They're free-range vegetarians, with roaming rights to the entire 5-acres, as well as my backyard, and sometimes even my front yard.
The neighbors must've realized how much my husband and I liked the chickens, so last summer they asked if we'd like to be chicken sitters while they were gone. We'd never been chicken sitters before, weren't sure what a chicken sitter would do, but said yes, we'd love to be your chicken sitters.
I guess we were pretty good chicken sitters, so they asked us if we'd like to do it again. We were thrilled that we were considered such good chicken sitters, so we said yes, yes, yes, we'd love to chicken sit again.
It's pretty easy. All we have to do is make sure they have food and water, and collect the eggs. If you've never had fresh free-range eggs straight from the nest, you do not know what you are missing.
So for the next two months, we are once again a couple of chicken sitters.
I'm glad they didn't ask us to watch their dog, Gritch. A couple of summers ago, the old bitch got loose was was caught frolicking in Pastor Parson's bed of roses. Mrs. Parson's wasn't too happy about it, and spread stories about that bitch, Gritch, even though the neighbors begged for forgiveness.
Then there was the donkey, Jack. Three years ago, that jackass was locked in the barn and hee-hawed all night long. I'm glad they didn't ask us to watch him. I don't need to be looking out for some jackass that keeps bothering the neighbors.
I guess you can understand why I prefer being a chicken sitter. I really don't feel like trying to control some loose bitch or whining jackass from ruining the neighborhood.
So, if you'll excuse me, I have some eggs to collect. I really take my chicken sitting seriously.
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My folks are getting ready to buy some chickens too. Think Monday they take delivery of some fine chickens(all named dinner if they don't lay well enough!! haha. I kid!! :) )
Cute story.
Monte
Rated for high nitrogen content.
Then the landlord died, and the lawyers screwed my dad on first option to buy (a whole big post I haven't got to but I will one day), and we got a new landlord, with pretensions of being a Country Gentleman. He bought a peacock and two peahens. So now creatures you can hear from 3/4 mile away are wandering under my bedroom window at 4am and having an experimental squawk or two. Bastards.
We put up with them for years, but in the end, the local foxes dined on one of the hens, and a young man now living in exile near LA ran the peacock over with his bike. Damn thing just walked right out in front of me, with his head close to the ground, pecking grit off the roadway. I admit it, I made absolutely no effort to miss the bugger, and went right over his exotically colored neck. Of course after I hid the body in the bushes, Mr Reynard came by in the night and dined again, leaving a fine collection of feathers, so he got the blame for that one too. I don't know what happened to the remaining hen, but she kept very quiet after that.