I’m convinced that if doctors handed out chickens instead of drugs there would be far less depression in the world.
The winter blues usually start for me shortly after New Year’s and can last all the way into May. But this year I have chickens.
My chickens get me out of the house every single day. I walk out to feed them and get at least a few minutes of fresh air every day and sunshine when it’s around.
They depend on me, and human beings need to feel needed.
They make me laugh as they run about. It’s interesting to simply observe the pecking order. One of the White Rock hens has a distinctive and bossy cluck. She seems to be trying to tell the others what to do, but they ignore her.
They add beauty to our farm. I ordered 6 different breeds of chickens so that we’d have lots of different colored hens to watch.
Thanks to chicken therapy, my bouts of winter blues have been much shorter and occurring less frequently. It’s a good thing. (I’m sure Martha would agree.)