It was impatience. At the Solstice, the chickens were putting themselves to bed at about 4:15 which worked out really well for my shopping and social schedule.
Last night I fidgeted on the deck at 4:20 wondering why they were still clumped around the yard near to coop, as is their wont before bedtime, but not going in. I really wanted to go and get some cheese, so I told them that I would just close their door when I came back.
Got to the store and scored the cheese as well as a big box of vegetables that they were tossing out, including 4 mangoes and about 2 lbs of asparagus, came home and found the door already closed.
I do not have neighbors at the moment, and when I do they have to be bribed to come and close my chickens' door for me.
I knelt down on the frozen, guano covered ground to see about 3 sq' of feathers all wedged in to the corner of the underside of the coop.
I felt like an evil chicken steward.
Here it is the coldest night we've had so far, and I had left the door closed, forcing the chickens to roost in a dangerous and freezing location while I thought about cheese.
When chickens have been asleep for a little while, they act as though they'd gotten into the Valium. I had a hoe and a broom, 2 implements that normally get a serious rise out of Buck, but I was not having much success in chivvying them out from under the coop so that I could grab them.
One at a time, I hauled them out, put them into their house, and listened to them have a discussion about what they had just endured.
Chickens are like groups of girlfriends, needing to process everything that happens, and telling the stories over and over again. They don't forget anything. They embellish each telling with loving detail of grievance and triumph.
Buck too.
Last night I fidgeted on the deck at 4:20 wondering why they were still clumped around the yard near to coop, as is their wont before bedtime, but not going in. I really wanted to go and get some cheese, so I told them that I would just close their door when I came back.
Got to the store and scored the cheese as well as a big box of vegetables that they were tossing out, including 4 mangoes and about 2 lbs of asparagus, came home and found the door already closed.
I do not have neighbors at the moment, and when I do they have to be bribed to come and close my chickens' door for me.
I knelt down on the frozen, guano covered ground to see about 3 sq' of feathers all wedged in to the corner of the underside of the coop.
I felt like an evil chicken steward.
Here it is the coldest night we've had so far, and I had left the door closed, forcing the chickens to roost in a dangerous and freezing location while I thought about cheese.
When chickens have been asleep for a little while, they act as though they'd gotten into the Valium. I had a hoe and a broom, 2 implements that normally get a serious rise out of Buck, but I was not having much success in chivvying them out from under the coop so that I could grab them.
One at a time, I hauled them out, put them into their house, and listened to them have a discussion about what they had just endured.
Chickens are like groups of girlfriends, needing to process everything that happens, and telling the stories over and over again. They don't forget anything. They embellish each telling with loving detail of grievance and triumph.
Buck too.
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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.