Yup, you read that right. I bought CHICKENS at a YARD SALE.
They were $4 apiece, which at the time, seemed like a steal. ... Probably because I'd stolen the money I was spending at the yard sale. (This was smack in my prime of shoplifting and serial thievery. Don't ever let me tell you the story about how I used to steal suckers from The Sucker Lady's house and then sell them on the secondary market (aka: the playground at Taylor Elementary). You'd never get over what a hoodlum I was, and you'd probably have to stop reading my blog - which would punish us both.)
Anyway, the chicks were going for $4 a pop, and I somehow had $16 to burn, so... I bought four chicks.
I'm not entirely clear on how I got them home. (Maybe Hudsons dropped them off? No way did I carry four squirmy baby chickens home. ... I mean, it's not FAR - if you're not carrying chickens - but still. I doubt that I carried them myself.)
Anyway, somehow I got home with my chickens and told my parents I'd bought us a farm.
You can imagine how well that went over, I'm sure.
After much discussion on where we were going to KEEP the birds, I made a deal with my parents that if I could make them a coop, I could keep them.
Armed with a pair of wire cutters and ten able fingers, I went into the back yard and commenced building a chicken coop. Out of leftover fence.
You read that right. I cut FENCING with a pair of wire cutters and then bent and twisted the cut ends towards each other to fasten them together. With my bare hands. (Over time, I did enlist the help of the brothers, but it was my vision - and they were MY chickens - so my bloody fingers bore the brunt of the work.)
After a good summer day and a half of twisting metal, I came up with a chicken pen of sorts (heavy on the "of sorts") and my parents agreed to see how this would play out.
About a week later, the chicks started to grow up. As in, get bigger, fill out, turn red (they were Rhode Island Red, which I thought were just bee-yoo-tiful), and...
It turns out none of them were CHICKENS. Oh, no. They were ROOSTERS. All four of them.
Insert a whole heck of a lot of pent up testosterone-laden hostility here. (Also, you can kiss all my future egg income goodbye.)
Pretty quickly, the roosters got a little (read: a lot) feisty. One day, Spencer went out to check on them, and he got pecked in the eye.
And that was the day my parents made me get rid of
And I haven't bought a chicken since. Not even one.