Don't call me chicken

We've taken a big step here at Minnow Creek Lane.  I clean chicken poop now.  And chickens poop a lot.  Add that to my resume.  Sells well on Wall Street. 

Living in Manhattan did I ever dream of chickens? I can't say that I did.  Maybe hot wings with bleu cheese dressing.  Never the live kind.  But here on Orcas, where everyone raises chickens, things are different.  We have a stable, begging to be used for something other than Gerry's second shop, and I don't fancy myself a horse lady, despite looking quite at home in a pair of riding boots.  Chickens seemed like the natural introductory choice for a couple of city slickers.  Easy, right?