This evening, I told the Samurai that I wanted to write a blog post. He suggested that I go outside and sit with the chickens for a while. So, that's what I did.
I'm still getting used to the idea of even having chickens. They've only been around for about six weeks. Fourteen Black Australorps and one...Redcap? probably?
They arrived in the mail, in a ventilated cardboard box that went peep peep peep -- louder when we drove around curves or over hills. For the first month or so, they lived indoors, in a large dog crate. When we moved them outside, into a shiny new chicken coop in the yard, they suddenly stopped looking like overgrown, gangly baby chicks and started looking like full-blown chickens in miniature. The transformation was instantaneous, and remarkable.
So, anyway, this evening I sat on the back steps, watching the chickens.
A few of them came right up to me, expecting treats. Reaching into the nearby jar, I pulled out a handful of dried mealworms. I let a couple of chickens eat out of my hand, and then when I got tired of being pecked, I tossed the rest on the ground and let the feeding frenzy commence.
The chickens had been ranging out into the yard a bit when I first arrived on the scene, but now they began to stay closer to their coop. They drank water, nibbled at their chicken feed, chased each other around a bit. Then slowly, in ones and twos, they began to make their way up the ramp and into the coop.
This, I would never have believed as recently as a week ago. I thought we'd be chasing chickens every evening, scooping them up and gently shoving them into shelter. I didn't know that as the sun set, they would want to go to bed -- but they do, and somehow, I find that incredibly comforting.
When they seemed to all have gone to bed, I closed the door behind them. Simple as that.
I didn't count them, but I'm pretty sure they were all in there. I decided to trust them.
Meanwhile, there's a new month on the horizon, and change is in the air. I can feel it -- and I am going to try, for a change, not to dwell on it overmuch. I'm going to choose trust, and see what unfolds.
I'm still getting used to the idea of even having chickens. They've only been around for about six weeks. Fourteen Black Australorps and one...Redcap? probably?
They arrived in the mail, in a ventilated cardboard box that went peep peep peep -- louder when we drove around curves or over hills. For the first month or so, they lived indoors, in a large dog crate. When we moved them outside, into a shiny new chicken coop in the yard, they suddenly stopped looking like overgrown, gangly baby chicks and started looking like full-blown chickens in miniature. The transformation was instantaneous, and remarkable.
So, anyway, this evening I sat on the back steps, watching the chickens.
A few of them came right up to me, expecting treats. Reaching into the nearby jar, I pulled out a handful of dried mealworms. I let a couple of chickens eat out of my hand, and then when I got tired of being pecked, I tossed the rest on the ground and let the feeding frenzy commence.
The chickens had been ranging out into the yard a bit when I first arrived on the scene, but now they began to stay closer to their coop. They drank water, nibbled at their chicken feed, chased each other around a bit. Then slowly, in ones and twos, they began to make their way up the ramp and into the coop.
This, I would never have believed as recently as a week ago. I thought we'd be chasing chickens every evening, scooping them up and gently shoving them into shelter. I didn't know that as the sun set, they would want to go to bed -- but they do, and somehow, I find that incredibly comforting.
When they seemed to all have gone to bed, I closed the door behind them. Simple as that.
I didn't count them, but I'm pretty sure they were all in there. I decided to trust them.
Meanwhile, there's a new month on the horizon, and change is in the air. I can feel it -- and I am going to try, for a change, not to dwell on it overmuch. I'm going to choose trust, and see what unfolds.
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