So we did the test. The worm test. Vermicomposting worms. The kind that eat table scraps and leftover vegetable bits and human flesh. (No, I’m making that last part up.)
My wife said: “If we can keep worms alive then it will be a great test for how we’ll do with chickens.”
Chickens have been her dream for years. Laying hens. Big, fluffy fowl that you wear on your shoulder like a parrot. Who guard your house while furnishing you with eggs. Who bring love and joy and eat everything in your yard, down to the bricks, which they would also eat if only they had sledgehammers.
So first we did worms to see how we would manage. To see if we could do it. To see if we could keep them alive.
And … well … we killed them all!