Country Neighbors, or The Day the Chickens Came to Visit

I love living in the country. Whenever I drive by the lovely subdivisions with the beautifully manicured lawns, all I can think about is how CLOSE all the houses are. I like living in the country. Our neighbors are very nice, and have brought us food from the garden, and taken home a jar or two in exchange many a time. I like having space, and very nice people at the end of that space.

Today I canned sweet potatoes again. I kept all off the peelings in a bag, and took them out back to the dog. Sweet potatoes are very healthy, and I remembered seeing sweet potatoes among the ingredients of some fancy pants dog food before, so I decided Gypsy would like them. I gave them to her, gave her a few loving pats, and walked back to the house. I heard a noise behind me, and I looked, and there were two red hens. I had seen them before, but never quite so close. They were VERY tame hens, and came quite close. I peered into my mixing bowl and saw a few peelings still clinging to the sides, so I offered them to the hens. They clucked in appreciation, I bid them good day, and went in the house.

A little later I her a noise at the door, and look out the window to see…the chickens!


They hung out for a while, then went about their merry way. I have seen them a couple times, and whenever I am outside, they come to see what goodies I have to share. You know, just being neighborly.

One day, I came home, and a little hunting beagle was in the yard to greet me. I opened the door of my car, and he hopped in the bag and happily snarfed down the chicken nugget and stale French fry that The Kid had abandoned in the backseat.

They say good fences make good neighbors, but I think that fences would only keep out the best neighbors. šŸ™‚ I like to live where the chickens come to visit.


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