Call me the Crappy Composter. I won’t argue. It’s true enough: I never quite manage to get the ratio of greens-to-browns quite right, I’m too lazy to turn the stuff, and I don’t have the patience or property required to build up perfect piles.
So when it comes to composting, I need all the help I can get. I have discovered that chickens, with their perpetual scratching and pooping, are great little compost helpers, so I delegate most of the composting process to the girls.
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