Our chickens are so happy.
They have been pecking and bobbing their way around our yard for the last two days.
Always before, they had to stay in the chicken run because our beloved dog, Shadrach, was fond of chicken. And not in a good way.
He had to be put down last month, and while we are all sad to say goodbye, one benefit is that our dear chickies are happy as little clams. Or as free chickens, perhaps.
They’re much more tame than our previous chickens, due to the fact that we have a regular Fern (Charlotte’s Web reference) in Mr. J. He is so devoted to his chickens that he announced a month or two ago that he wants to have a chicken dairy when he grows up. We’ve decided that would definitely be a niche market. 🙂
He sits and sits (on his homemade chicken-watching stool) down in the chicken run, just holding them and watching them whenever he gets a chance.
Anyways, the boys let the chickens out a couple days ago for the first time, and they were adorable. Fluffy and pecking and just having an all-out garden party. Evening came, kids went to bed, and I remembered that we still had chickens out. Not only that, but some of them were up on the porch, and even had the nerve to get up onto the rocking chair and attempt to enter the house by flying at the windows. My husband was less than impressed. A.) Chickens on the porch. B.) Chicken poop on the porch. C.) Chicken flying at the windows.
He muttered something about needing to get the chickens into their pen, and next thing I knew, my calm, unflappable husband was on the front porch, sternly informing our rooster in no uncertain terms to leave the premises. I stifled a giggle, and went outside to help with the chicken herding. This involved several interesting and humorous attempts of me, standing at the top of our backyard bank, and sending various chickens reluctantly flying down to T.
I caught the last one, (yes. I did. Me. I held a chicken.) and we had a nice, romantic walk down to the hen house. Hand in hand, and chicken in arms, we strolled down to the back yard. I commented on the romantic moment, and T wholeheartedly agreed (with perhaps a bit of an eye roll.)
They all gathered in to roost, and we went in to drink coffee.
I’d herd chickens and take evening strolls to the hen house with him any day.