96 animal, vegetable, miraclepoultry order. Lily shivered with excitement as we discussed the pros and
cons of countless different varieties. As seed catalogs are to me, so are the
hatchery catalogs for my daughter. Better than emeralds and diamonds,
these Rocks, Wyandottes, and Orpingtons. She turned the pages in a
trance.
“First of all, some Araucanas,” she decided. “Because they lay pretty
green eggs. My customers will like those.”
I agreed, impressed with her instincts for customer service.
“And for the main laying flock I want about ten hens,” she said. “We’ll
keep one of the roosters so we can have chicks the next spring.”
She read listings for the heavy breeds, studying which ones were strong
winter layers, which were good mothers (some breeds have motherhood
entirely bred out of them and won’t deign to sit on their own eggs). She
settled on a distinguished red- and-black breed called Partridge Rocks.
We ordered sixteen of these, straight run (unsexed), of which about half
would grow up to be females. Lily knows you can’t have too many roosters
in a flock—she had mentioned we would “keep” one of the males, imply-
ing the rest would be dispatched. I didn’t comment. But it seemed we
were now about seven roosters closer to a horse. I hoped they would all be
very, very mean.
She paused over a section of the catalog titled “Broilers, Roasters and
Fryers.”
“Look at these,” she said, showing me a picture of an athletic- looking
fowl, all breast and drumstick. “Compact bodies and broad, deep
breasts... ,” she read aloud. “These super meat qualities have made the
Dark Cornish a truly gourmet item.”
“You’re sure you want to raise meat birds too?” I asked. “Only if you
want to, honey.” I was starting to crumble. “You’ll get your horse someday,
no matter what.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I won’t name them. I’ll have my old pet hens to
love.”
“Of course,” I said. “Pets are pets. Food is food.”
Out on the near horizon, Lily’s future horse pawed the ground and
whinnied.