Along with the mystery of life, and on the tail end of the question about chickens and road crossing I must ask what happened to this week? I only just realized that it is 4:55 on a Friday afternoon and if it’s Friday, that means it is Friday. How did that happen?
Hacking and coughing my way through this week, I didn’t notice it passing by. But here we are and I have things to say about chickens. This morning, Carl was looking out the window of my office. It has an above ground view of the chicken coop and from that window this morning, we watched as Splotches–she who was the disappearing broody hen this summer and for no rational reason whatsoever we let her hatch four eggs–she jumped up on the hay bale next to the fence-to-freedom. She stood on that hay bale for no longer than ten seconds and then hopped up onto the fence pole from there she leapt, with a flutter of her wings, to freedom (her interpretation) or danger (mine). Danger because when out of her prison–the chicken area that encompasses about a quarter of an acre–she is susceptible to the bob cat that occasionally wanders by. Or the weasel that’s been poking about of late. But she will have her walkabout and across the driveway (road) she went. And one wonders why? Why did that little chicken cross the road?
Answer: to poop on the porch.
Alternative answer: to find a fabulous new hiding place to lay an egg because when I went out and picked up Splotches and carried her back across the road and through the fence and set her down, she waddled off on a mission. Yes, it was time to lay an egg and she was snooping about the tool shed, trying to push a wood pallet out of her way so as to busy down into a rather uncomfortable looking spot but who am I to judge? Besides, I could sense it, that feeling welling up in me. That hope that maybe she’d have an egg. And sit on the egg. And hatch the egg . . . DING DONG! “What are you thinking, Tory? You have only rehomed one, count it one of the six roosters you have from the last round of Broody Hens Beat Tory. No.” So I picked up Splotches and shoved her into the nice cozy Quonset hut. There she laid her egg.
Fonzie a.k.a. Diablo currently named TopiTop is back where he came from at Maplewater Farm with ten hens of his own. He’s adjusting nicely. I miss him. He really is an elegant bird.
Elmer resides at the bottom of the pecking order so I’m actually thinking I might be able to keep him. Schtude likes having an underguy.
The four mutts gave me a moment of hope today. I looked at them and briefly thought OMG! They are all girls!
No, they aren’t. But they have divided themselves off from the other flock, moving into the old nursery coop so I’m going to ignore the obvious for a while longer.
And so ends a dull post from a bronchially challenged me.