I’m beginning to like chickens more than honey bees, purely for the comic relief. There’s nothing my chickens do that isn’t completely ridiculous. I can’t take anything they do seriously. Three of them climbed up the high front steps of my house today because they felt compelled to guard the house, maybe?
The way they walk, the way they run, the way they sound — it’s the definition of ludicrous. The enjoyment I get from just being around these farcical creatures exceeds the pleasure I get from beekeeping. To be honest, beekeeping has been more work than pleasure for the past three years. The simple satisfaction of being with the bees has been overshadowed by a long string of headaches I’ve had to endure, starting with moving my hives in May 2012 so my neighbours wouldn’t complain to the city about them. Now that I’ve finally found a country-like setting where I can keep my bees in peace, I hope I can relax around the bees again and perhaps recapture the wonder of beekeeping like I used to know. And if it doesn’t work out, at least I’ll have the chickens.