As the weather slides into seasonal change like an out of control car, I'm trying to grab every minute of every portion of every day that has something to recommend it.
The chickens feel the same.
They loiter longer than they should in the yard, and stay awake talking until it is completely dark. The last few days I have had to be somewhere that made it impossible for me to get back here and close up the hen house, so my only choice has been to keep them in all day and bribe them with treats. This morning I opened the door, and they all assumed the same posture. Leaning their weight forward on their bodies, extending their necks and peering at me carefully with one eye.
"You've got to be kidding me" they say.
"What could be more important than my need to ruin the landscape?" they ask.
Buck tries to grab my face as I refresh their water and put down a bowl of lettuce and apples for them.
I am, however, wearing a helmet and visor, so all he gets is a sort of percussive feeling down his beak. Not nearly as satisfying as warm flesh, I hope.
One recent dusk, I lost another hen, Mae who always roosted right next to Buck, [which goes to show that there's always some woman who will like any man, no matter how pushy he is] but the hens I still have always get as far away from him as possible. I have started scattering some of the morning food under the edge of the coop so that they may have breakfast without that lout climbing all over them as they are buttering their toast. The result, Barbie's feathers are coming back, as is her confidence.
I still have Pearl, my favorite, best chicken because though she is little, she beats out the others for resourcefulness and independence.
After a bit more than a year, my opinion is that keeping chickens in a medium security facility is disappointing. This time of year brings out the motivation in the larger predators, the raccoons [dwarf bears] have torn the doors off the shed in order to investigate empty jars and containers, somebody grabbed Mae, and must have been sharp about it, because I never heard a thing. Aside from the chicken increasing their time pressed up against the side of the house, or perching on my bicycle on the porch, they have not expressed grief or opinions.
I don't know what's next, but I predict a bad tempered chicken coming out of the coop in the morning tomorrow if the weather reports are correct, and we have a nice day. I'd better have a broom.
The chickens feel the same.
They loiter longer than they should in the yard, and stay awake talking until it is completely dark. The last few days I have had to be somewhere that made it impossible for me to get back here and close up the hen house, so my only choice has been to keep them in all day and bribe them with treats. This morning I opened the door, and they all assumed the same posture. Leaning their weight forward on their bodies, extending their necks and peering at me carefully with one eye.
"You've got to be kidding me" they say.
"What could be more important than my need to ruin the landscape?" they ask.
Buck tries to grab my face as I refresh their water and put down a bowl of lettuce and apples for them.
I am, however, wearing a helmet and visor, so all he gets is a sort of percussive feeling down his beak. Not nearly as satisfying as warm flesh, I hope.
One recent dusk, I lost another hen, Mae who always roosted right next to Buck, [which goes to show that there's always some woman who will like any man, no matter how pushy he is] but the hens I still have always get as far away from him as possible. I have started scattering some of the morning food under the edge of the coop so that they may have breakfast without that lout climbing all over them as they are buttering their toast. The result, Barbie's feathers are coming back, as is her confidence.
I still have Pearl, my favorite, best chicken because though she is little, she beats out the others for resourcefulness and independence.
After a bit more than a year, my opinion is that keeping chickens in a medium security facility is disappointing. This time of year brings out the motivation in the larger predators, the raccoons [dwarf bears] have torn the doors off the shed in order to investigate empty jars and containers, somebody grabbed Mae, and must have been sharp about it, because I never heard a thing. Aside from the chicken increasing their time pressed up against the side of the house, or perching on my bicycle on the porch, they have not expressed grief or opinions.
I don't know what's next, but I predict a bad tempered chicken coming out of the coop in the morning tomorrow if the weather reports are correct, and we have a nice day. I'd better have a broom.
