Going About the Life of Being a Chicken

We have a small hobby farm in Monroe, GA.  I say we.  Actually, it’s me.  My husband just pays for it.  And builds me stuff for my animals when they need it.  Like custom rabbit cages and chicken pens.  He built my miniature horse a miniature gate for his miniature paddock.  He built my dogs a huge, heated, metal-roofed doghouse.  They won’t use it.  Someday it might become the goat’s house.

The chickens are fun.  My husband is convinced a chicken is the perfect pet.  They don’t cost anything to buy, they don’t cost anything to feed (except a couple bags of chicken food every few months), and they’re quiet.  Most of the time. 

My chickens (I have four) follow me around like puppies.  I think they like having company.  They make the cutest little sounds.  They just talk and talk.  It’s a happy sound they make, just clucking along and enjoying life. 

They don’t seem to worry.  They scrape the ground with their feet, searching for bugs.  They take dust baths and actually seem to enjoy it.  They fluff their feathers, shake their heads and wiggle their tails.  When I bring their dinner, they flock around my feet, gleefully anticipating the pelleted food they’re about to receive.  At night they happily retire to their enclosed pen, safe from whatever predators roam my pasture at night.

I wish I could be a chicken.  I wish I could lead a chicken’s life.  I could live my life without a care in the world and not worry about a thing.  Shuffle my feet, fluff my hair and whistle a happy tune when someone brings me a snack.  But the reality is, I’m not a chicken and I won’t ever be able to “go about the life of being a chicken”.  I do worry.  I worry over money and health issues.  I fret over my child’s grades.  I fear the mailbox and the bills that lurk inside, waiting to be paid.  I stare at the phone waiting for that one call that will pay our bills next week (we are self-employed…www.bryantroofing.com…shameless plug for our business!).

So what is one to do when one is not a chicken, and one tends to worry?  Look up.  Pray.  Talk to God. 

I go to First Presbyterian Church of Monroe (www.FPCMonroe.com).  It’s a friendly, mid-sized church with a welcoming atmosphere, smart engaging pastor and a supportive congregation.   This is the place I go to on most Sundays to grow my faith, learn about the Bible, and push myself to become the kind of person Jesus Christ wants me to be. 

 I guess I’ll always be somewhat of a worrier.  But I have found that, for me, attending a church helps me to put my faith in God, allowing me to “go about the life of being a chicken”!