WALKED OUTSIDE TO A PATIO THAT LOOKED LIKE IT HAD BEEN TARRED AND FEATHERED.

I STEPPED IN CHICKEN POOP AND REMOVED MY SHOES TO CLEAN THEM, THEN LANDED IN ANOTHER FRESH PILE BEHIND ME.

Like many families who decide to get baby chicks, we'd underestimated the time commitment-and the filth-inherent in chicken-keeping.

But the birds hadn't been an impulse decision. Our three sons had been masterminding how they were going to run this "business" for months. Their plan: Get three chickens and launch an egg-selling business. They had a name for the enterprise (Let's Get Cracking), a logo (a cracked egg, with a fried egg bursting out between the two halves) and elaborate plans for a grand opening (a backyard brunch with hard-boiled, scrambled and fried eggs as the main course).

"We've got it covered, Mom," said my then-8-year-old when I emphasized the work involved. "You and Dad won't have to do anything. Promise." He and his 10-year-old twin brothers seemed up for the challenge and excited by the idea of earning money by selling fresh eggs.

Who was I to squash their entrepreneurial drive? Friends who had been keeping chickens for years assured me that it was easy. "You can even sell the poop to local gardeners for fertilizer,” one said, as though pawning off feces for profit was an obvious plus.

Secretly, I was enchanted by the vision of fresh blue and beige eggs on our countertop - not to mention that of adding some females to our all-boy brood. I even envisioned myself, in a floppy hat, escorting my egg-carting boys to the farmers' market to sell their wares.

Despite our boys' promises, my husband, Brandon, feared that the lion's share of the chicken-keeping duties would fall on him (I didn't beg to differ), and he wanted no part of it. "We have to put together a coop and a run and clean it all. And they poop-a lot," he said.