We have a new addition to the household. Emily has been cultivating a farm girl persona for quite a while, part of which has been a steady, low-grade lobby for a chicken of her own, going as far as to check out and devour a book from the library on the care and feeding thereof. It should come as no surprise, then, that after a recent trip to our local hardware store she came home with a $0.99 ball of fluff named Gregory.

Gregory, a naked-neck chicken, has begun to imprint on Emily, and will cheerfully race around the house after her. The other children are, naturally enough, insanely jealous of this latest addition, and have shown a renewed interest in caring for their guinea pigs since I informed them that would be a good way to demonstrate the sort of responsibility that’s required to get a chicken of one’s own.

We’re still a bit unclear on what our local zoning laws have to say about keeping a chicken or two in one’s backyard, but hopefully if we keep it discreet, it won’t become an issue. (Though it would almost be worth it to get to tell potential employers about my criminal possession of a chicken.)