This year for my birthday, I skipped the practical.
Leapt over the moderately impractical.
And so, one week after my husband agreed handle the biggest obstacle in my chicken-owning dream, the chicken coop, I was burning up the interwebs trying to determine which little fuzzy poultry friends would be its inhabitants.
The final decision, due to the fact that I have approximately zero prior knowledge of chick-purchasing, was made completely based on the recommendations of others: the chicken-lady at the hatchery and the search results of dozen or so delirious hours of “best family-friendly chicken” googling…
Magnolia named her Buff Orpington Astrid, Clementine named hers Juniper and I named mine Marigold.
Minus the poop.