At night when the chickens have gone to roost, it is my job to do a beak count before closing the door against marauders. Nearly every night I get a shot of adrenalin when I think I'm short a chicken.
Have you ever been on public transportation and had some big overly friendly guy crowding you? He breathes things at you that you would prefer not to hear and try to ignore. You take a step back, but there's nowhere to go, and he leans in further, muttering.
This is what Buck does to the hens on the perch. There is room there for about 6 more chickens the way he is pushing them against the wall.
What I don't understand is why in the morning when I let them out, he's the one to go after my shoes or my knees. Seems like he's King of the roost, and should be happy to have that extra hour of crowding hens while I oversleep; but no.
This morning I opened the chicken door [soon to be electronically controlled!] and stepped behind the wood pile.
Buck came down the ramp, talking to himself. Grumbling, looking around with pointy eyeballs. He spotted me, took a couple of running steps in my direction, noticed the impediment, turned and stomped off
"Grrr-warrahwarrah!" he said, and ran in circles around the hens. This morning, they all ignored him but not so much that they didn't find time to step aside. I took the chance while he was distracted to make it back to the house before he knew I was gone.
I think I heard "I'll deal with YOU later" being crowed after me.
I said to him what I always say ; "You're welcome."
Have you ever been on public transportation and had some big overly friendly guy crowding you? He breathes things at you that you would prefer not to hear and try to ignore. You take a step back, but there's nowhere to go, and he leans in further, muttering.
This is what Buck does to the hens on the perch. There is room there for about 6 more chickens the way he is pushing them against the wall.
What I don't understand is why in the morning when I let them out, he's the one to go after my shoes or my knees. Seems like he's King of the roost, and should be happy to have that extra hour of crowding hens while I oversleep; but no.
This morning I opened the chicken door [soon to be electronically controlled!] and stepped behind the wood pile.
Buck came down the ramp, talking to himself. Grumbling, looking around with pointy eyeballs. He spotted me, took a couple of running steps in my direction, noticed the impediment, turned and stomped off
"Grrr-warrahwarrah!" he said, and ran in circles around the hens. This morning, they all ignored him but not so much that they didn't find time to step aside. I took the chance while he was distracted to make it back to the house before he knew I was gone.
I think I heard "I'll deal with YOU later" being crowed after me.
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Glad to hear from you, but criticisms will be ignored. It's the beauty of the web. I will answer all friendly remarks. Buck handles the rest.