The Chickens Got Out

At least three of them did.  They had a fabulous time, running around the yard, scratching for bugs, eating random things, freaking out and running.  They are so hilariously social...they never wanted to be more than a few feet apart.  Sometimes, one would get so involved in scratching compost or some other activity she was pursuing that she wouldn't notice that the other two had moved on for a minute, would look up and discover that she was "alone," and rush, flapping, clucking and leaping over to where the other ones were.  Poor Farizad, or, as David sadly now wants to call her, Buff Orpington (I guess it is good that he knows the breed, but I was fairly attached to the literary name Farizad), couldn't quite figure out how to get out and spent the day wandering bereft, clucking disconsolately,  around the chicken arc.  We tried several times to assist her to get out, but nothing doing.  Elsa and David had fun chasing them around as well, and Elsa even got to cuddle Rhoda, our Rhode Island Red a little bit.

Chicken heaven.

They spent a lot of time over by Jerry's bunny hutch and run.  Jerry was excited about the whole thing.

Poor, lonely Farizad (or Babizara, or Buff Orpington...)  We tried very hard to let her out.

My parents are in town, which has been great.  They do tons of yard work, especially the cosmetic kind that I don't usually get to, but really appreciate when it gets done, and also entertain the children.  Anyway, today I announced that I did not wish to leave the property, because I wanted to hover anxiously around the chickens and make sure that nothing got them (and that they didn't completely destroy my garden, which they were certainly interested in doing), but they took the kids out to lunch and to a playground while I puttered around in the garden and guarded the chickens and my garden with my life. 

And I did, and it was fun to putter around and have a little time to myself.  I brushed the bunnies, gardened, cleaned up a very little, attempted to turn the compost--it's so heavy...I thought it would be a good opportunity to make bread, but I didn't do that.  Then I made a dinner almost completely from the garden--pesto, with my basil and garlic one of my sweet neighbors grew and gave me for my birthday, my squash, salad and cucumbers.  It was very satisfying, and I even got to freeze some.

Then it was time for chicken (and children) bed, which is tricky, because they occur at pretty much the same time.  I let David listen to Little House on the Prairie on CD (which I shouldn't, because he is understanding it only somewhat...should I even admit this?  He suddenly announced the other day that the only good Indian was a dead Indian.  Just so we are clear, he did NOT hear that from us...and lots and lots of explanation of how actually, Native Americans were here first and that the Europeans were actually pretty bad.   So, next time, that is one for a read aloud, not listen to alone kind of CD) while I went out to coax Goneril back into the coop.  I was able to put one of the chickens in, and another had followed her.  Goneril definitely wanted in the coop, but could not for the life of her figure out how to get in, and was certainly not interested in my assistance.  My dad and I chased her around--I am not moving terribly fast these days as my belly has sprouted, until we finally realized we could lift the whole dang thing, and under she went, and they are all tucked in for the night.

It was a really fun day.  The chickens are so pretty, and it made me so happy to watch them running around the yard.  We really have chickens...it's just so, thrilling, somehow.