Meet the Peckerwoods.

When we were house hunting last fall, we put an offer on a place that had a chicken coop in the back. I have wanted chickens for a while, and the coop was the universe's way of telling me that was my new home. We didn't get that house, but for my birthday this year, Laila got me chickens. You can't stop the universe.

Ginger. She's a Rhode Island Red.

Clove. She's an Australorp.

Lemondrop. She's a Dominique.

Cinnamon. She's an Ameraucana. She will lay blue or green eggs.

I wanted three chickens, but the lady who sells them said if you want three, get four. Inevitably one will get sick and die or be a rooster and you'll have to return it. Guess what. All of my chickens are perfectly healthy. Cinnamon had a little eye goo when she was brand new, followed by a couple bouts of pasty butt, but that is it. Whether one is a rooster remains to be seen, but from the looks of things at this point, they are all girls.

Mack decided they needed a little apartment so they could get out of the bright light if they wanted to. They thought their food bowl made an excellent bed.

Like 3 days in they started getting their big girl feathers on their wings. They'd stretch out real big and long. We called it their "sexy."

About two weeks in, they started jumping on top of their apartment inside their plastic box. We took them to their coop to play. Life hasn't been the same since. 

The chicken lady said they could live in the coop when they were 8 weeks old, but after these girls got a taste of the outside, that's all they wanted. For a couple weeks, we put them in the coop during the day and brought them in at night so they wouldn't get cold or eaten.

That outside was like steroids. They went from chicks to chickens in a couple of weeks! They ran around the yard and hung out in the bushes. We started a morning ritual of sitting outside to drink coffee and watch the chicken drama unfold. Lemondrop would find a worm, Ginger would try to steal it out of her mouth, everyone would run around like lunatics. Pure entertainment.

At the beginning of June, I left my chicks to go on a camping trip and Mack went away to work for the weekend. I left them lots of food and fresh water and secured their coop. When I came home two days later, I had middle schooler chickens. It was unreal.

The Peckerwood Gang. They run the backyard.

They do not approve of a lame human coming into their clubhouse. Chickens are the masters of side eye.

Lemondrop, named for her poof of yellow on her butt, no longer has a poof of yellow on her butt.

Clove, well, her body grew but her brain has not developed much to this day.

At the beginning of July I went to Kentucky for a week. I figured their growth would slow down a little bit but nope. I came home to teenager chickens. They had boobs and attitudes. They were pretty and sassy. They were smarter. Except Clove. Cinnamon had a damn mustache! 

We started calling her Gimli because her mustache reminded us of the dwarf on Lord of the Rings.

The Peckerwoods ruled the roost and their roost was their coop, the backyard, the patio, the sideyard, the garage, my garden, and anywhere else they decided to go. Mack had let them have free reign over the place.

This is what giving no fucks looks like.

Here's what "You're not the boss of me" looks like.

These chickens have become a pain in my ass. They are naughty and demanding and treat me like I am the scariest monster in the world even tho all I ever do is give them treats and snacks. They shit everywhere. I make them corn popsicles and apple and popcorn garland and they act like I've put out poison for them. They have devoured my garden, eating everything from kale to radish greens to zucchini leaves to watermelon vines. When I planted new seeds, they came right behind me and dug them up. I put up some chicken netting to keep them from shitting all over the patio furniture. Yeah, they use it as a hammock.

RIP radishes. You were doing so well.

Hell yeah, a swing! 

Just throwing a little party where we shit all over the patio and rage all over this plant.

They are definitely college-aged at this point and it's only been 10 weeks! If Clove wasn't with other chickens, she'd be failing at life entirely. Lemondrop is on the Dean's List and Ginger is maintaining a passing GPA. Cinnamon is in community college and will probably end up being a plumber. Clove is gas station material. These girls are bad. They are rotten. They are ornery. They are trouble. They are my favorite things in life right now.

I have favorites. She is it in the chicken department.