We used to have chickens as pets, until the kids had too many commitments at school and sport and they had to be given away. This wasn’t in the country; it was in residential Sydney. They ran around in the backyard and sometimes they would holiday in our folks’ garden out in way-out-suburban Sydney. Middle-class chickens, these were.
They were called Cluck and Chickarita. Not terribly imaginative, I know, but their names were quite descriptive. Cluck was dependable and a regular egg-layer. Chickarita was a drama queen and her eggs were erratic.
You wouldn’t think that chickens are affectionate creatures, but the children would run out into the garden and hug them every morning. Then, they hoarded their eggs like gold, not wanting to eat them. We would come up to three weeks worth of eggs and have to give them away surreptitiously at an omelette party.
They’re not far these days, at an uncle’s house, and we visit occasionally. As it’s coming up to Easter, we wanted to remember them as they made our lives richer for a period of time.
~ Spotted Cow