strange karma

It is the strangest thing.  This afternoon I was on my way to my photoshop class, thinking only how nice it will be to improve my excruciatingly rusty design skills, when I pass a flyer for: CHICKEN CLASS.


Déjà vu, my friends.  Déjà vu.

Not only was this a sign for 'beginner's' chicken class, such as the one I took, but an ADVANCED, MANAGING YOUR FLOCK chicken class.

I had to stop and ponder this.  A FLOCK?  Really?  In the back yard?

You would think people in my area would notice the landscape, currently dotted with little chicken coops and their glowing red windows, and think to themselves Thank God I Don't Have Chickens.  I mean in the dead of winter we're talking 24/7 care.  But no.  People are signing up in droves, eager to acquire a flock of their own.

I'll state here that YES, chickens are interesting in that YES, you get beautifully colored, albeit salmonella covered, eggs.  And of course the plumage is divine, granting that other chickens in said FLOCK have not pecked each other bald in an effort to rule the roost.  BTW, there's nothing nice to be said about chicken legs.  Hideous.  Ugly.  Prehistoric.  Dinosaur-like.  Seemingly too-large for the bird.  Icky.  But I'm digressing.

Gentle readers, If you happen to be among those considering raising a brood of your own, be forewarned.  Chickens are fiercely peckish high-maintenance beasts who happen to leave the occasional, edible, calling card.  It is SO much simpler to buy eggs in the store.