Maybe 2.5/3. As a millennial backyard chicken keeper, I think I am this book’s target audience, but it wasn’t a bullseye for me. Danovich seems lovely and so does her flock, but the book was not cohesive, lacking both a dominant plot (fine, nonfiction) but also a thesis. She shares how having chickens has changed her lifestyle (no chickens as food), but doesn’t quite make an argument for that, or anything really.* I learned a lot during the convention chapter and definitely had a few other tidbits I noted and shared. I fret a bit that my opinion of this book is influenced by the fact that my chickens are very different to me than the author’s are to her. Sure, mine have names, are beloved, and I find them therapeutic. I agree that the American meat industry is very flawed. But I don’t think I’ll be taking my chickens to the vet.