Personal Narrative

I strapped into the backseat of my car with my sisters sitting next to me. My dad was excitedly rambling about how he always wanted to live on a farm with a ton of livestock. Today he was achieving his dream, to an extent. My sisters were excitedly bustling too. Everyone in my family was super eager to get chickens except for me. Frankly, I didn’t think we could handle chickens as a family.
The drive up to the farm was long; we passed several acres of grassy fields and ranches. The farmhouses looked isolated and sad; many of the farmhouses had large windows and doors that resembled a human face frowning. I couldn’t believe my father would be willing to exchange his suburban life for a rural life just in a heartbeat. My dad’s desire stems from …show more content…
The sun was shining brightly on the white house, causing it to glow. The barn and coop that where next to the house were shining red under the sunlight. My sisters hopped out of the car and ran to the large chicken coop. The owner, a large, pale man with rosy cheeks, approached my dad and mom and began chuckling when he saw my sisters excitedly pointing at hens and chatting. My dad told the man that we wanted to buy two hens since Falls Church doesn’t allow roosters. While they began talking logistics, my mom and I walked over to my sisters and looked into the coop. There were dozens of identical rusty colored hens strutting around, making sounds, eating, and staring. My sister turned to me and exclaimed that she wanted the hen with the broken beak. I laughed a little bit but I still just didn’t want chickens. I feared that my sisters and dad would just become bored with them and forget about them, like they often do with many …show more content…
My dad had a cardboard box in his hands with two red hens poking out, one with of the hens has a broken beak. The owner began describing how he inherited this farm from his grandparents but nobody was listening to him as his voice was buried under the peeping of the birds. My mom called the owner over to the pen where she and I were standing. She asked how much he would want for two pullets. I don’t exactly remember what he said, but I remember feeling surprised because the price was so cheap. My mom grinned and called my dad over to tell him she wanted two younger chickens. My dad groaned but still handed over the money for the pullets. I turned to my mom and asked if we could even handle having four chickens. In response, she laughed and said that if the house could handle four daughters, we could handle four chickens. I smiled but still was worried about the chickens’