"Inspiration doesn’t always come from big, dramatic moments; sometimes, it’s found sitting under a tree, watching chickens fight over a dried mealworm."

Recently, I was interviewed by the podcast: Ramblings From The Little Shed, where the host, Holly, highlights local writers and explores how their pets and animals have shaped their creative journeys. While preparing for the conversation, something clicked for me as I started thinking about my own menagerie of furry and feathery creatures, and just how deeply they’ve influenced my writing… often without me even realizing it.

Since I was a kid, animals were my safe space–not just pets, but the wild ones I’d befriend outside. A chipmunk I’d share my afternoon school snack with, ravens I’d leave peanuts for, and the fish in our pond who would nibble my toes. I was huge into catching frogs, snakes, minnows, and I remember filling the bottom of a tent with water and building a frog kingdom inside.

More recently, I became quite obsessed with chickens, quail, and geese. It’s my absolute favourite thing to just sit outside on a blanket under a tree with them moseying around me while I watch them exist (feeling like Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons). Animals all have these hidden worlds, and if we pay enough attention, we can observe them or even be part of them.

As writers, we’re observers of imaginary people running amok in our minds. We dictate unfolding stories, constantly digging into the hows and whys of our characters’ thoughts and actions. There’s something powerful about learning to map those patterns by watching animals and pets. Their instincts, hierarchies, quirks, and emotional responses. They mirror so much of what we try to capture in human storytelling.

The Healing Power Of Chickens

Seven or so years ago, I was a single mom of two kids living in the suburbs. I struggled with intense social anxiety (even leaving the house was hard at times). But I had this dream–one that felt distant and honestly unattainable. I pictured us living on a tiny farm, surrounded by animals, living a peaceful life where I could write, create, and simply be a mom.

It was the kind of dream I would retreat into when everything felt like too much.

One day, while browsing online, I came across an ad for an incubator. And something shifted. It felt like a small, strange, but possible way to bring a piece of that dream into our reality.

A few weeks later, I had an incubator and a dozen silkie chicken eggs.

I don’t think I had felt that excited in years. My kids and I would candle the eggs before bed, tracking their growth with an app, watching something magical slowly unfold. Then came hatch day–and I genuinely don’t think I looked away from the incubator once.

That moment sparked something in me.

Sitting with those tiny balls of fluff as they zipped around, watching their personalities emerge, seeing them explore the world–it healed something. It grounded me. It calmed my nervous system. It gave me something to look forward to again.

And in a way, it changed the trajectory of my life.

Because now, I do live that life I once imagined. We have a little farm in the country. I have a supportive husband who fully supports my bird obsession. And that once “unattainable” dream became something real, and it came one small step at a time.

Looking back, animals have always been quietly shaping how I see the world, how I observe behaviour, and how I build stories. They taught me patience when I needed grounding. They gave me wonder when I felt stuck. Inspiration doesn’t always come from big, dramatic moments; sometimes, it’s found sitting under a tree, watching chickens fight over a dried mealworm.