"No one’s going to eat my chickens." That’s been my mantra ever since we took a spontaneous trip to the feed store and came home with four baby chicks. And yes, I knew how hypocritical that sounded. We had organic chicken thighs and roasting chickens in the freezer.
But these adorable balls of fluff, grand prize winners in the lottery of poultry life, were going to be pets. They got a home in our bathroom, under a heat lamp, while they grew. They got names: BeBe, Dee Dee, Lanie and Lou. Our kids would learn about responsibility and animal development.
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