It must be dismal to be an animal and not be able to read the forecast for the week ahead: you wake up to yet another day of very cold weather and surely you think you're stuck in some kind of Groundhogian melodrama of never ending winter. We at least know that tomorrow, for the first time in a very long time, we'll hoist ourselves into the "above freezing" range. Animals can't be so easily reassured.
Ah, tomorrow! The ice will begin to melt. That's enough to make today's morning walk to the barn almost carefree: ha! take that, you brittle ice (a light kick follows)! You will soon be gone!
In the meantime, the landscape is as it was yesterday, last week, last month.
The cats are huddled. The little guys have never known anything but winter. Perhaps they feel life will always feel cold.
But there is a restlessness in the air. I see it in the behavior of the cheepers: peering out as I open the coop, wondering perhaps if they will ever scratch the ground again, because really, scratching soiled wood shavings is very unsatisfying.
Stop Sign is patrolling her turf. Dance and Jacket still prefer sticking to the garage, but they, too, are nimbly checking out their surroundings. (Dance! Is that you on the garage roof??)
(Back on the ground...)
(Perched on the tool desk, Dance looks almost like a small Stop Sign....)
As we approach the weekend, Ed and I continue to be stuck on what to do with the cheepers. He has an idea and I have a different idea and he really doesn't like mine and I really don't like his. We offer half-assed arguments over breakfast...
He wants to go along with me, and I want to be on board with him, but as we get toward the end of the day, we find ourselves spinning back to the opening question: how do we proceed with those darn hens?
On this last really cold day of the year, I pick up a cheerful girl who never complains about the weather (unless it storms).
From the hidden vantage point inside, we watch deer gather. Snowdrop wants to name them! "They're not afraid of me!" -- she announces.
What sound do they make?
We don't know. Youtube to the rescue.
And now it's evening again. I take Snowdrop to gymnastics...
... then return home, to cook up a supper of eggs and veggies. No, not cheeper eggs. They rarely lay these days. Age, winter, breed -- these factors are all at play. I am reminded of the lyrics to that folk song -- she's laying eggs now, just like she used t'er, ever since that rooster, came into our yard.
So, we should get a rooster? Maybe.
Ah, tomorrow! The ice will begin to melt. That's enough to make today's morning walk to the barn almost carefree: ha! take that, you brittle ice (a light kick follows)! You will soon be gone!
In the meantime, the landscape is as it was yesterday, last week, last month.
The cats are huddled. The little guys have never known anything but winter. Perhaps they feel life will always feel cold.
But there is a restlessness in the air. I see it in the behavior of the cheepers: peering out as I open the coop, wondering perhaps if they will ever scratch the ground again, because really, scratching soiled wood shavings is very unsatisfying.
Stop Sign is patrolling her turf. Dance and Jacket still prefer sticking to the garage, but they, too, are nimbly checking out their surroundings. (Dance! Is that you on the garage roof??)
(Back on the ground...)
(Perched on the tool desk, Dance looks almost like a small Stop Sign....)
As we approach the weekend, Ed and I continue to be stuck on what to do with the cheepers. He has an idea and I have a different idea and he really doesn't like mine and I really don't like his. We offer half-assed arguments over breakfast...
He wants to go along with me, and I want to be on board with him, but as we get toward the end of the day, we find ourselves spinning back to the opening question: how do we proceed with those darn hens?
On this last really cold day of the year, I pick up a cheerful girl who never complains about the weather (unless it storms).
From the hidden vantage point inside, we watch deer gather. Snowdrop wants to name them! "They're not afraid of me!" -- she announces.
What sound do they make?
We don't know. Youtube to the rescue.
And now it's evening again. I take Snowdrop to gymnastics...
... then return home, to cook up a supper of eggs and veggies. No, not cheeper eggs. They rarely lay these days. Age, winter, breed -- these factors are all at play. I am reminded of the lyrics to that folk song -- she's laying eggs now, just like she used t'er, ever since that rooster, came into our yard.
So, we should get a rooster? Maybe.
