Morning on the Farm: The Chickens' Breakfast

My little pug in the morning

In bed by nine thirty - who have we become? Every day seems to be dragging once it hits 3 o’clock and Nolan and I just sit on the couch, staring at our phones…microwaving dinner…thinking of our upcoming vacation to Seattle, Chicago, and Austin.

But it’s the morning that’s come alive for me. N works more mornings now, so he’s up first. He brews the coffee while he has a cigarette and brings me a cup while I, stumbling for my glasses and alarm, let it cool on the table until my head is raised enough to avoid the coffee dribbling down my pajamas.

He goes to work; I read for an hour.

The dogs, snore and stretch and snuggle their heads into pillows and my thigh. Any way to avoid the sun.

And then I rouse them up. We do the chickens. This morning, I had to carry Murphy to the backdoor. He is stubborn and wouldn’t get up with the others.

In this cold weather, I give the chickens any attempt at warmth that I can. I keep an electric kettle down in the barn for them so I can easily heat water for them throughout the day. I also bought oatmeal, which I mix with any herbs that are still growing in our kitchen garden (this morning, it was basil) and a mix of dried herbs (usually red chili flakes, to help with worming and immunity). Mixed by hand, a reserve for my bantam, I throw the aluminum pan into their coop.

This is a near-daily act of love I use to say, “Thank you” to my flock.