When you’re a chicken, everyone looks like a tree
It’s been hot here lately. The chickens don’t like that much. In the middle of the day, they stay in the shade under the chicken house, on the cool paving slabs, trilling quietly.
In the evenings, though, when the air cools, I let them out and sit in the garden with them for an hour or so, letting them “free range.”
This consists of squawking, flapping short distances, pecking everything that moves, pecking everything that doesn’t move, belly-bumping and pecking each other, running for cover when anything flies overhead, teasing the cat and, increasingly, perching all over my person in the most outrageous and undignified manner.
That last bit is worth every penny they cost.
That, and so far nobody’s shat on me. Bonus!
June 29, 2010 — 10:41 pm
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