Today I got around to putting together the electric chicken door, and timer. I was hoping to come home from Morris practice and find that everything had worked as planned, but that didn't happen. I came home from Morris practice alright, and found the chicken door closed as it was supposed to be. I still had to do a beak count though, so I aimed the flashlight into the window of the coop and saw no chickens.
I called the chickens, fearing the worst, hoping that all I was going to have to do was crawl under the house to find them. I felt very guilty thinking of their panic at finding that someone had done the equivalent of short-sheeting their beds.
I heard a sleepy cluck or two, so I got a bigger flashlight. They were all underneath the coop, completely unprotected. Buck got moving first, a little too lethargic to be aggressive, but perky enough to elude capture. Holding the flashlight in my teeth, and chasing him around the obstacle course I've placed around the coop to keep him from rushing me during the day, he was eventually persuaded that he should get in the coop, but he wasn't happy about it, and hearing the hens squawk as though they were being murdered complicated matters.
Out of 4 hens, I was able to catch only one correctly reaching under the coop, grabbing her in a way that wouldn't be too distressing or bend anything the wrong way. The other three I grabbed tails as they tried to take off into the woods, and pulled them toward me so that I could get them around the middle and bring them to safety.
They didn't care for it, and I hope they forgive me.
I hope they forget about the rude handling they received from someone who normally is the distributor of treats, and think maybe it was all just a bad dream.
I'm not sure though.
I closed the doors on the hen house and stood outside eavesdropping on their conversation. It was more animated than their usual bedtime talk.
They sounded pretty indignant.
Well.
I'll buy them some grapes tomorrow.
I called the chickens, fearing the worst, hoping that all I was going to have to do was crawl under the house to find them. I felt very guilty thinking of their panic at finding that someone had done the equivalent of short-sheeting their beds.
I heard a sleepy cluck or two, so I got a bigger flashlight. They were all underneath the coop, completely unprotected. Buck got moving first, a little too lethargic to be aggressive, but perky enough to elude capture. Holding the flashlight in my teeth, and chasing him around the obstacle course I've placed around the coop to keep him from rushing me during the day, he was eventually persuaded that he should get in the coop, but he wasn't happy about it, and hearing the hens squawk as though they were being murdered complicated matters.
They didn't care for it, and I hope they forgive me.
I hope they forget about the rude handling they received from someone who normally is the distributor of treats, and think maybe it was all just a bad dream.
I'm not sure though.
I closed the doors on the hen house and stood outside eavesdropping on their conversation. It was more animated than their usual bedtime talk.
They sounded pretty indignant.
Well.
I'll buy them some grapes tomorrow.
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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.