It's true. I hate the chickens. I should probably think of a nicer way to describe my dislike for them but I can't. When comes right down to it I hate, hate, hate them.

I don't know why I thought I would enjoy having chickens. Being the proud animal hater that I am, owning chickens goes against everything in my body. I say body because my dislike for animals generates a physical reaction of disgust. Of course, I know that is probably going to be an unpopular statement but I've got to be me. And me hates animals.

Don't get me wrong. I can appreciate the beauty and magnificence of animals. Some animals. Mostly wild animals. I can also appreciate that most people love animals, particularly their domesticated pets. That's just not me.

And although I hate animals in general, there are some very specific reasons why I hate the chickens.

• They shit all over the yard, the deck, the front porch, the front walk, the back walk, and the drive way and the water is turned off right now making it incredibly difficult to clean up after them
• Elliott, the black one, has been molting, which means there are gross black feathers all over the place
• They make noise, particularly Cathy, who seems to be very bossy
• Sometimes I have to change their water
• We now have hay strewn around the back yard and sometimes it gets tracked into the house
• Only one of them consistently lays eggs; the other two are worthless

So when the boys go away for the weekend and I wake up early to enjoy a peaceful morning, I am none to pleased to see those pesky chickens huddled by the door looking in as though the need something from me.



Chickens.