As a longtime vegetarian, I have occasionally felt a little twinge of conscience when I made an omelet. The hens that produced the eggs for my meal were probably living wretched lives. Since moving to Hand Cove, however, I have grown acquainted with quite a number of people who raise their own chickens. Indeed, in 1986 a chicken suddenly appeared on our doorstep (really camper step) and lived with us during our weekend visits to the lake. Some years after that we had a peacock stay with us for months. My brief experiences with poultry convinced me that I really didn't want any as pets. But our friends Ron and Liz really do view their chickens almost as pets. They actually raise them to sell the eggs locally, but Liz tells me that when a hen quits producing, Ron simply refuses to eat it--even though neither Ron nor Liz are vegetarians.
Anyway, we have started buying our eggs from these two friends--at least in part because their chickens seems to have rather spacious and comfortable digs, as seen above.
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