I just wish like all get out that I could invite you all over to the backyard.
I’m telling you, no matter what the day brings, no matter how close the tax deadline looms, even though the sink is backing up and the price of gasoline is going to be more than the cost of a gallon of milk soon, despite the utter lack of confidence I have in any and all of the politicians vying for my vote, I’m telling you there is nothing like a boy and his chickens to set the world right!
Our girls are getting SO BIG!
Here’s our benchmark shot of little Pearl, taken on the day we brought her home:
And here she is now:
Can you stand it?
I will tell you that I’m growing happier by the day that I’m not a mother hen. As fast as little boys grow, chicks grow even faster!
Everyday, about dusk, our girls get to squawking to be tucked in for the night. They are ready to settle down, and want us to put them in their little box and lock them up tight and cozy for the night.
So, I thought maybe, what with the instincts clearly kicking in, it was time to put some poles in their cage, for roosting.
Well they acted like I had just introduced a crocodile into the flock. They ran around hollaring and flapping their disapproval, until my oldest little Daddy climbed in there and put one of them on the pole, so as to demonstrate the purpose of this new oddity.
(and yes, that is wee little Hazel ! Only her head is blue now.)
It was the funniest thing I think I have ever seen.
All the chickens stretched their necks up, big and tall, cocked them to one side, and stared in wonder. Here was Hazel, on the mysterious pole. Holy heavens!
It took not four seconds for the rest of them to flutter up there, cackling delight over their new heights.
All but poor Rosemary.
Try as she might, she cannot make it up there. She runs around pecking all her sister’s toes and peeping herself silly over it.
Her patient Daddy coos and lifts her up there.
She’s always pleased as punch to be up, but invariably, she hops off after a bug or something, and can’t get up again. Sometimes, she even tries to get a running start, but alas, the girl is just not very athletic. And, considering the fair amount of stares and squawks from the other girls, I’m pretty certain that they are making fun of her, in their own chicken way.
So Luke, good daddy that he is, goes out and puts her up there several times a day. He thinks that the more she’s up there, the harder she’ll try to make it up, of her own accord.
He even holds tasty greenery over her head and makes her hop for it. He says he’s helping to build up her leg muscles, so that she can gather the strength to roost on her own.
He talks sweetly to her, encourages her, tells her “don’t give up girl, I know you can do it!”
I will tell you that I near about cried when I heard him say of the chickens already on the roost, who were looking pitifully on as Rosemary tried and failed, “Don’t pay any attention to them, girl. You just keep at it. You’ll get it!”
I just wonder if this chicken has any idea just how lucky she is to have such a magnificent papa.