Our chickens get a regular feeding of scraps, the occasional kombucha scoby, milk kefir, seeds, some grains, dried crushed shell and oyster grit and any protein left overs, as well as garlic and apple cider vinegar in their water. They have a dirt bath that has coffee, dry dirt and sand which is placed in the sun and under cover. They live a good happy life with a lot of room to move around. But I hate feeding them. Not because they're chickens or that they make an excited racket when they see me coming, but because it is Winter and our property is on such a slope, which is brilliant for drainage every other season, but in winter it is a slippery, boggy mess to get to them. I take my life into my own hands when I crab walk my way down to them, feed bucket in one hand and bottle of fresh water in the other. The usual outcome looks like a comedic show. I have images in my mind of the neighbours waiting at their windows to see today's show - knowing it will be a hilarious highlight. I know that the chickens get a kick out of the show as I inevitably slip - slide onto my bottom, while the food flies up into the air, lands somewhere around my legs as I un-gracefully (don't know if that's a word - but it's an apt description) try to catch it in the bucket. so - there I am. No going back now. May as well feed the jolly beasts. They have dry feet with the nice straw and herbs I place around their laying area and where they scratch and roost and they greedily eat up what I've placed before them. I make my way back to the house, without the reward of an egg - because they're not laying in the winter, I yell back to them occasionally that they'd better start laying soon, or they'll be in the pot. This occasionally results in 1 egg being present the next day. While I'd like to think they understand my sentiment, I think it's just they're way of keeping their own days interesting and playing with my mind. All is forgiven when the weather abates, the ground begins to dry and the eggs are plentiful. So the cycle of chicken keeping revolves. During the winter months it is my responsibility to remember to be grateful for the small things, but one thing will remain certain - in the Winter, I hate feeding chickens