I grew up on a small farm in the Pacific Northwest.   It wasn’t a ranch the size of a small country.  My parents didn’t run 1000 head of cattle.  We didn’t muck out stalls from dusk until dawn. It was 10 acres backed up against timberland. It was beautiful.  It was perfect.
Now, my tiny little homestead is an exact acre, we’re attempting to increase our acreage, but who knows if or when that will ever happen. No matter though, I have been slowly but surely turning this abode into a working small farm.
Thankfully my parents have allowed me to raise a variety of animals on their farm (just down the road) as well as my own so I can follow all of the best management practices I preach on and on about in my day job -water quality this, soil integrity that, compost is the bee’s knees,  and so forth.  But, our acre is being put into production this year!
Part of our increased effort is expanding our layer chicken flock.  These birds have it good. They have the entire acre to literally range free and they even sneak over into the neighbor’s horse pasture to mix it up every so often. Yesterday morning however they took their ranging to a new level.
The ever faithful dog Ted likes to let himself back into our house when I forget to push the door shut all the way. Try as we might, he refuses to learn to shut the door after he comes in! Thus, when he came bounding in the house pleased as punch and I was changing sweet baby Q in the back room, the door was left wide open and those free range cluckers of mine let themselves into the house!  I came back out to the living room to find our lead hen drinking out of Ted’s water dish and Bertha the Wyandotte relaxing in our kitchen. Luckily the gals didn’t poo, but it was quite the ruckus as I attempted to shoo them out, Ted tried to help, and Q was laughing at us all.  Very lively start to our morning in Melville.

Later that day Q and I went to try out her new swing and as the flock came running towards us, she began giggling uncontrollably. Squealing.  Reaching for those pesky hens. So of course, like every good farming mama would do, we spent the next 20 minutes chasing the chickens around the yard.

There is no doubt in my mind that our chickens are spoiled rotten, beloved by babies, and range perhaps too freely. Expanding our flock will be an adventure!

(Welcome to the flock wee little Ameraucanas!!!)