In my backyard, a flock of chickens enjoys the spoils of bugs, grass and other things they stoop down to peck. The 12-strong flock is hardy and happy; they lay blue eggs and live a good life in South Deerfield. I was sad when I read a story in the WSJ about how 97 percent of chickens live. That is, they are crammed into cages so small that six of them fit into what is about the space of a lobster trap.
But there are three percent who live in vast open yards, albeit as crowded as a freshman party with free beer, 24/7.
Some times I think about how hard it must be to be an animal. The beef being shipped by truck in the frigid air of February, so cold with that wind blowing through the slate in the truck. Ugh. So after the three percent of chickens who get to live without those cages, less than one percent of chickens live the ultimate life of luxury. Free range. Big open lot, plenty of bugs, and a spacious hay-filled coop to retire to at sundown.
I love my chickens…I am glad ours qualify as the high luxury on the chicken living scale.