You can't enter dust bunnies in the county fair

Chickens are messy.  They poop and scratch and fling bark-o-mulch.  Having said that, there is another side to them.  The more important one.

They are wonderful pets and companions.  They are good for the land, eating bugs, pooping little piles of soil amendments everywhere, turning over surface soil and eating seeds of unwanted plants.  

But, damn, they are messy.  I love order and cleanliness.  Yet, I live on a farm.  I have animals.  I have kids.  Dust swirls into and onto everything from the fields nearby.  Animals stroll about, rearranging order into disorder and cleanliness into messiness, depositing you-know-what willy-nilly.  People come and go, bringing in dirt, leaves, sawdust, poop, and bugs in.  Even though I have a no shoes in the house rule, it often goes unheeded.

And chickens are a social breed.  They love to be near people.  I've written before about how, if a door is left open, they stroll in to roost for the night or to visit, or to lay an egg.  Bringing in the mess.  My compulsively clean nurse-self is frustrated, wanting to pen them up and steam clean everything.  My farm-girl-self is amused and weirdly gratified, knowing that these are special relationships and special times.

So, I walk around behind the critters, cleaning up poop, spritzing and scrubbing carpet and floor, sweeping up piles of dirt.  I steam clean the carpet every three weeks.  I fantasize about wood floors.  But, I never lock up the critters.