When I Die, I Want To Come Back as One Of My Wife’s Chickens
Those fowl have it pretty good
The photo of the daily fruit and nut tray explains it all: My wife loves her chickens.
We moved to 11 acres in the country six years ago so she could have chickens. We let them free-range every morning.
As my wife walks down to the coop, those fowl will drag their beaks across the chicken wire. They look like prisoners banking metal cups against bars to complain.
My wife then does the daily poop walk
This is when she cleans up dumps from our three large dogs. The chickens, dogs, and our blind cat follow her around the yard.
I follow too because it is pleasant outside and we can talk without screens, my remote work, or my wife’s quilting impeding conversation.
Once the poop walk is done, those fowl scurry up to the porch waiting for their daily fruit-and-nut tray. The article photo included some scrambled eggs. That’s kind of cannibalistic, but the protein is good for them (I’m told).
