Apparently, My Chickens Live in Poverty

I’m just a country gal. Nothing fancy. If something works, I leave it alone. If it’s held together with baler twine and sheer stubbornness, I consider it a success. My style is practical, functional, and not likely to show up in any glossy magazine—unless there’s a “Rustic Chaos” special edition, which, honestly, should exist.

So you can imagine my reaction when I stumbled upon an article about a horse barn done up like a luxury hotel lobby. Brick walkway—laid in a herringbone pattern, naturally—crisp white walls, ebony-stained trim, and chandeliers. A whole row of chandeliers, twinkling above the stalls like the horses were hosting a gala. Because apparently, these days, your horses need mood lighting while they kick holes in the walls and redecorate their stalls with hay and poop.

But it didn’t stop there. Oh no. I’ve seen chicken coops—chicken coops—with vinyl flooring, matching curtains, wallpaper, and yes, more chandeliers. Apparently, if your coop doesn’t look like the cover of “Poultry Palace Monthly,” you’re just not trying hard enough. Meanwhile, back at my place, Hennifer Lopez and her feathered entourage are finally laying eggs in the nest box and defending it like it’s prime real estate. They don’t seem too concerned about the lack of interior design.

And just when I thought barnyard luxury had peaked… I saw it. A goat barn. Two stories tall, with a second-floor balcony. A proper balcony, mind you, complete with rocking chairs, a braided rug, and—you guessed it—a chandelier hanging gracefully above the whole setup. Because clearly, if you’re going to sip your sun tea while watching goats act like caffeinated toddlers on a playground, you deserve proper ambiance.

Oh, and the goats? They weren’t left to just stand around, no sir. They had their own full-blown playground. Jungle gyms. Seesaws. Climbing ramps. A proper goat amusement park. I half expected to see a ticket booth and a sign that said “Next show: 2 PM.” Because nothing says “responsible livestock management” like building an outdoor adventure course for animals who will still, without fail, choose to stand on your car if given the chance.

I don’t even have goats anymore, but I’ll admit… that balcony looked pretty inviting. I wouldn’t mind sitting up there, rocking gently, watching someone else’s goats bounce off the walls. But still—a chandelier. On a barn balcony. For goat-watching.

Back at my farm, the barn floor is plain wood—sealed with Blackjack 57 and topped with pine shavings. My lighting? Bare bulbs, exposed fixtures, no frills. They flip on when I hit the switch, and that’s good enough for me. No one’s throwing a cocktail party out there. My sheep think tipping over their water bucket is the height of entertainment. If I hung flowers in their pen, I’d come back to bare stems and zero apologies.

I admire folks who style their barns like magazine spreads. I truly do. They’re creative. Dedicated. Probably exhausted. Me? I’m just trying to keep the barn swept, the grass mowed before I lose a chicken in it, and the animals fed before they stage a revolt.

Maybe one day I’ll hang a chandelier in the barn—strictly as a perch for the chickens. Functional and decorative. That’s my kind of style. Until then, I’ll stick with Blackjack 57, pine shavings, and bare bulbs. Because let’s be honest: the animals don’t care. And neither do I.

As for that balcony? I’m not saying no. I’m saying… not yet.

Now, if you need me, I’ll be on my imaginary balcony, rocking away, watching the chaos I call a farm—and loving every minute of it.

Meanwhile, my chickens are living in what can only be described as barnyard poverty. No chandeliers. No curtains. No matching wallpaper. Their idea of luxury is a clean nest to lay an egg—and even that’s negotiable. They’re playing in dirt, grass, and occasionally, whatever bucket I forgot to move. Frankly, if poultry welfare officers ever show up, I’ll probably be cited for emotional neglect.

But do they care? Not one bit. They're too busy fighting over the same patch of yard like it’s beachfront property, and squabbling about who gets to roost on the top perch.

So yes… nothing says “barn” like a chandelier you don’t need and goats you don’t own—while your chickens live like feathery squatters in the background.

And honestly? I think they prefer it that way.

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