The remodel is complete (painting and decorating excepted) and the chickens seem to like their new addition. And why not, it makes sense, which my darling wife knew of course. They now put themselves to bed at night, safe in their new roost, instead of recklessly sleeping on the ground by the wire mesh, only a Coon’s paw distance between safety and oblivion.
They (Buffy, Chicky and Arianna) are getting quite big and confident in their ability to take no notice of what I say. I think my son, who learned this art and skill from his Mom, has had them in training. At first, when I let them out to stretch (whatever chickens stretch) I could catch them quite easily, and pop their little fluffy persons back into the cage. Now it resembles a cross between Keystone Cops and Laurel and Hardy.
Have you ever heard a chicken laugh?
They were darting between my legs, over my shoulders (I have the poop epaulettes to prove it) and through my outstretched arms, as I successfully failed to return them to their abode. With a few beads of perspiration now dribbling down the inside of my legs (at least I hope it was sweat) and across my furrowed brow, I sat down on an upturned bucket, Oor Wullie like, and watched in frustration as they hopped over the bottom of the gate and into their cage.
Chickens 1
Me 0
This is going to be an interesting Summer.
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