NO CHICKENING OUT
The Star’s restaurant critic Amy Pataki and family hatch a plan to raise hens in the backyard,
The chickens are coming.
This spring, our family of five is taking the feathery plunge and getting chickens for our Etobicoke backyard. Should be interesting. Following a pilot program in some Toronto wards and persistent lobbying from the kids, we will soon take possession of three hens, a “deluxe” coop, pine shavings and three bags of feed. Oh, and a bag of chubby mealworms (for the chickens, it’s specified).
We’re in it for the eggs. I mean, fresh eggs? Fried in butter, soft boiled or turned into cakes and puddings? Who wouldn’t want that?
Certainly, hatching the plan was a cinch. My husband found Rent The Chicken from a Star story. In five minutes, it was done. When he entered “Chicken Delivery Day” in our calendar, I thought it was a churrasco dinner plan.
“The Canadian neighbours are going to lose it unless they’re hippies,” warned a friend.
“They will curse your Magyar blood.”
Not that there should be anything to complain about. Small volumes of chicken poop aren’t smelly. We won’t have a rooster crowing at 130 decibels ( jet engine levels) each morning. We will silence any objections with gifts of fresh eggs.
There might be a complication at home, though. Will caring for chickens turn my three omnivorous daughters off meat? A friend has bet me a bottle of wine that the 13-yearolds will turn vegetarian by summer’s end.
We’ll see.