They arrived in our life. Three chickens. Two golden ones and one brown, striped one.

Follow the story in the pictures.

Famous Donna is ready to start the chicken trip in front of our porch. The toy chick in her hand is for inspiration.

Our dog Daisy starting the trip to Sonoma to fetch the chickens. She is suspicious about the plan.

Donna pondering whether we will need another story in the chicken coop. Two-storied-chicken-coop, you know.

In same chicken stores, the chickens are in boxes. We didn't like that. Our chickens need to see light.

Too small for us? We don't want to wait forever until they start laying eggs.

I agree with the poster.

We found another chicken store, called Hay&Grain. The simplicity in the name of the store appealed to us.

This is a place we like. We will get our chickens from here. But what kind of? What colors, types?

Connor caught the chickens for us. Ready to go home!

Ready to go home, chickens. Aren't they cute?

A neat chicken coop appeared in our backyard. It came by mail in thousand pieces without assembling instructions. It looked like a mission impossible: How to put the pieces together so that it ends up being a livable home for chickens?

I was wrestling my hands and cursing the chicken coop manufacturer. While I went upstairs to get more coffee, my housemate Donna assembled the coop. In a heartbeat. And she is even not of the Ikea-generation, nor is she Swedish.

Some people just have it, the skill for assembling and putting the right piece to its place. I can’t even match the right lid with the right Tupperware. How should I know when the lid just needs to be forced into its place, or whether the lid is a wrong one?

Thanks to Donna, we have an assembled neat little chicken home in our backyard. It is like a small bungalow.

It is a little step in the Mission, but a big step in our chicken project.

We? Our? Yes, the chicken project is not mine only. Actually, it is not mine at all. The idea is originally my housemate Donna’s, who is the best housemate ever.

She is as close to normal as anyone can be. And I am not, so we are a good match. We have something in common though: we like oatmeal. My oatmeal is drier than hers, but in the big scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter.

Why didn’t I mention Donna in the beginning? Because I’m an egotist. In this case, I guess, I had better say: Eggotist.