Men who talk to chickens.

It is not my intention to turn this blog into a forum on keeping chickens, but as this was effectively forced upon me, and is now part of my daily routine, expect to see the odd post on this very subject.

We haven't had these little darlings more than 3 days, so I was somewhat taken by surprise by the speed at which the change requests  have been flooding in. I am quite used to receiving instructions to change what has already been accomplished after the fact. Most of the house remodel has been done at least twice. I don't make unilateral decisions any more, as that is always doomed to failure. However, even when things get discussed in agonizing detail and then acted upon, somehow the finished product is never how we collectively envisioned it and always requires modification.

Murmers of coop failings started as soon as the last hammer blow fell and the chicks were installed. Last night, as we stood around the coop (both in our PJs) the subject of chick safety was hotly debated. The little darlings were huddled on the ground in one corner, instead of roosting on the perch designed for the purpose. This would lead to them being poked at through the mesh by eager raccoons, my wife said, as she gathered planks of wood and other yard detritus to pile along the side where the chicks were resting, turning what had been a fairly attractive A frame coop into a vagrant shanty town.
I should know better than to argue or voice an opinion, as this only prolongs the agony, so when I get home tonight, I will start the remodel so we have a secure sleeping area that we can lock up. Either that, or spend an indefinite number of sleepless nights outside with only the chickens to talk to.
Move over you three, and stop with the clucking will you!