WILLOW HEWETT AUTHOR

I don’t actually own any chickens—but try telling Clucky that. She belongs to my neighbour, but somewhere along the way, she decided my house was actually her house. She struts in like she pays rent, makes herself at home, and acts like she’s running the place.

I had no idea chickens had such big personalities, but Clucky? She’s basically a tiny, feathered human in disguise. Watching her go about her day is like living with a very small, oddly judgmental roommate who occasionally lays eggs.

I never thought I’d fall in love with a chicken, but here we are. Clucky converted me. Chickens are officially the best.