I'm back from a week off, during which time, among other things, I began taking care of a friend's urban chickens. Here's his flock of three, which, as close followers of civic codes will know, is the legal limit in Seattle:

Turns out city folk have all kinds of advice to offer chicken-sitters like myself, and I'm grateful for that because A) I am not the farm-hand type and B) these chickens are going to be living under my non-expert care and feeding for a good while to come.
Some things I've learned through shared wisdom and experience: Chickens can run quite fast. When you catch them, and pick them up, their bodies feel exactly like a chicken breast (which for some reason I didn't expect). If they don't lay eggs every day, it's nothing personal. And they have six-second memories.
I'm actually not sure if that last bit, about the six-second memory, is true. (Though I bet someone in the Slog mob will tell me in a few seconds!) But I've assumed it is—how else can they enjoy the same food every day?—and this has me wondering: if a creature only has a six-second memory, does it really matter how well I care for it?
For the record, and before you call the Humane Society, I am taking very good care of these creatures. But while I'm spending many hours chasing them all over the yard so that they can get exercise, and changing their water all the time (only to have them immediately foul it up all over again), and putting down new hay, I do frequently ask myself whether they'll even remember, six seconds later, that I've done any of this for them.
On a somewhat related note: Wouldn't Thanksgiving be great if all the people at the table had only six-second memories?
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