Raising Chickens and Collecting Thoughts

My husband Rick has a lot of hobbies–one is raising chickens.

One of my hobbies is asking questions.

Last week, our son’s girlfriend found a box of  abandoned baby chicks on the side of the road. She trains dogs and takes care of horses and cows, but she doesn’t know much about raising chickens. She gave them to Rick.

 Some of his chickens….

I peeked inside the box. Four baby chicks.  “What kind are they?”

“White Leghorns,” Rick said.

“How old?”

“Six weeks or so.”

“Males or females?”

He checked them over. “Three hens and a rooster.”

“I’m curious. What are the rules for raising chickens?”

“Don’t eat ’em.” He smirked.

“Be serious. I really want to know. How do you do it?”

He smoothed the chick’s feathers. “You talk to ’em. Get to know ’em.”

“What do you say to a chicken?”

“Same thing you’d say to a person. ‘Hey, there. How ya doing?’ That sort of thing.”

“Hang on. This is interesting.” I ran inside for a pen and paper. “What else?”

“Does your mind ever stop?” he said.

“Rarely. Keep talking.”

“You feed ’em.”

“What do they eat?”

“Anything, but I feed  mine laying mash and scratch.”

“They’re your friends, aren’t they?”

“Something like that. You gotta protect ’em. Keep predators away.”

“When you lose one, does it make you sad?”

A pause formed.

“Sure. I care about ’em. If you spend time with ’em, they’ll eat out of your hand.”

“What if they’re older and not babies?”

“Age doesn’t matter. They know who their provider is.”

Kneeling beside my husband and his chickens, I got a new perspective on how much my Father loves me.

“…as a hen protects her chicks beneath her wings…” Luke 13:34 (NLT)