Bow-CHICA-Bow-WOW

I recently discovered that I have an affection for vintage hen-on-a-nest candy dishes. How did I make this discovery, you may ask? Ummm...mumble, mumble TikTok, mumble, mumble.

I'm not embarrassed by my chicken-loving, but I'm more embarrassed by my obvious weakness for social media influencers. 

Ahem.

Anyhoodle, I've spent quite a bit of time (and money) on the hunt for chicks to add to my collection, as well as making space in my kitchen for displaying my birds. I'm not really mad about either of those things, because there is nothing I enjoy more than a good thrift hunt and reorganizing my spaces gives me a slight thrill.

Currently, the chickens roost (see what I did there?) in my kitchen, on the windowsill and above my cabinets. I have pretty much run out of room, which means my flock is complete (yes, Hugh, I said it).

The large chickens are mostly all named, including Attila the Hen, Hennifer Anist-Hen, Henneth Poultrow, Henrietta Clucks, and Lady Featherton. The roosters are Colonel Sanders, Cluck Norris, Rooster Cogburn, and Foghorn Leghorn II.

I haven't named the small salt cellar chicks because there are too many of them, so I just refer to them as The Chickies.

In addition to the chickens, I have three turkeys, who will only make an appearance at Thanksgiving, so I didn't feel the need to name them. I still love the nameless bastards all the same.

Some might say that, by collecting grandma's chickens, I am showing my age. Some might need to shut the fuck up and get their own hobby.