Oh, oh! Rooster on the loose!
It happened so quickly. I'd been putting food into a dish in the lower portion of the coop and noticed that Happy was not one of the chickens clamoring for grub. When I opened the roost to check on him, he flew out.
You could say that he was just that anxious to be free, but I think it's more an indication of his personality. The hens have more of a wait and see approach to life. Happy takes charge.
I almost didn't catch him, but I got lucky: he strutted to a corner and I could do a big grab. Mind you, there's a lot of muscle in that little guy. When he is fully grown, I'm not sure I'll be able to hold him down.
All that strength and bravado receded when I reintroduced him into the coop. Pepper, little Pepper, chased him out of the eating area. I was glad I had managed to give him some feed while I was holding him.
And the cats? Oh, they're fine. Their lives have not yet been disrupted by the chaos in the barn. The kittens are enjoying the sunshine, Whiskers shyly watches as I put out more food.
All this happens early. Monday is grandchild day to the max and Sparrow comes here even before Ed and I sit down to breakfast.
Happy guy. Excuse me: happy guys.
After eating, we're back to trying out new play situations. Sparrow gives the crayons an honest try...
He may not produce much in the way of drawing, but they do make him happy. It's all in the journey, right?
At noon, Ed asks if we can release the cheepers. I say yes. It had been two months of captivity for them. A tough, tough two months.
But if we thought they would come rushing out, we were wrong. Honestly, they seem dazed.
(Tomato, first one out, standing in the doorway, reprogramming her small chicken brain to take in this sudden return to old habits.)
We are curious how Happy will fare. No worries: within the space of the barn, the six of them explode in play.
Happy is a little puzzled, a little tentative, but overall, he seems to know his job: he seeks out higher ground and surveys his girls.
And the girls? Oh, do they romp! First order of operations: dirt baths in the barns soil. Too, they find mice! I would have thought they were the original mouser hens, but I suspect that they merely uncovered Stop Sign's hidden cache of dead mice.
When I bring Snowdrop to the farmette after school, she is anxious to see the cheepers at play. (I am, of course, nervous about the whole integration of Happy into our lives, but I remind myself: if he fails to be the gentle giant, he's out of here.)
The girls haven't forgotten. They look at Snowdrop and wait for the corn to fall from her hands. Happy tries to take it all in.
I tell the little girl -- no extra feedings for now. I want to keep things calm.
(Inside, we dive into the world of make believe.)
(Trust me, it is a beautiful place.)
Dusk. I smile at seeing Dance at the picnic table. Just like her mother.
Beautiful colors. Calm animals. Grateful us.
It happened so quickly. I'd been putting food into a dish in the lower portion of the coop and noticed that Happy was not one of the chickens clamoring for grub. When I opened the roost to check on him, he flew out.
You could say that he was just that anxious to be free, but I think it's more an indication of his personality. The hens have more of a wait and see approach to life. Happy takes charge.
I almost didn't catch him, but I got lucky: he strutted to a corner and I could do a big grab. Mind you, there's a lot of muscle in that little guy. When he is fully grown, I'm not sure I'll be able to hold him down.
All that strength and bravado receded when I reintroduced him into the coop. Pepper, little Pepper, chased him out of the eating area. I was glad I had managed to give him some feed while I was holding him.
And the cats? Oh, they're fine. Their lives have not yet been disrupted by the chaos in the barn. The kittens are enjoying the sunshine, Whiskers shyly watches as I put out more food.
All this happens early. Monday is grandchild day to the max and Sparrow comes here even before Ed and I sit down to breakfast.
Happy guy. Excuse me: happy guys.
After eating, we're back to trying out new play situations. Sparrow gives the crayons an honest try...
He may not produce much in the way of drawing, but they do make him happy. It's all in the journey, right?
At noon, Ed asks if we can release the cheepers. I say yes. It had been two months of captivity for them. A tough, tough two months.
But if we thought they would come rushing out, we were wrong. Honestly, they seem dazed.
(Tomato, first one out, standing in the doorway, reprogramming her small chicken brain to take in this sudden return to old habits.)
We are curious how Happy will fare. No worries: within the space of the barn, the six of them explode in play.
Happy is a little puzzled, a little tentative, but overall, he seems to know his job: he seeks out higher ground and surveys his girls.
And the girls? Oh, do they romp! First order of operations: dirt baths in the barns soil. Too, they find mice! I would have thought they were the original mouser hens, but I suspect that they merely uncovered Stop Sign's hidden cache of dead mice.
When I bring Snowdrop to the farmette after school, she is anxious to see the cheepers at play. (I am, of course, nervous about the whole integration of Happy into our lives, but I remind myself: if he fails to be the gentle giant, he's out of here.)
The girls haven't forgotten. They look at Snowdrop and wait for the corn to fall from her hands. Happy tries to take it all in.
I tell the little girl -- no extra feedings for now. I want to keep things calm.
(Inside, we dive into the world of make believe.)
(Trust me, it is a beautiful place.)
Dusk. I smile at seeing Dance at the picnic table. Just like her mother.
Beautiful colors. Calm animals. Grateful us.
