Happy New Year, everyone!
Truth be told, 2011 kind of sucked for me in many ways, so I’m really hoping 2012 is a good deal better. I hope you all had a great night and aren’t suffering too much today.
And Happy Birthday, Mom!!!!
Right. Back to business. The chickens going off reservation has been an ongoing saga here. They’ve had a taste of life on the outside, and they want more.
The last time I wrote about it, they were well behaved for the rest of the day, after their time out in the barn. And the whole next day, too, a large part of which was spent deep in what we call our second field, away from the roads, thank you very much. I was lulled into what I now know was a false sense of security. I began to entertain the possibility that my chickens, against all laws of man and nature, had learned.
I even imagined them breaking down the day’s events on the roosts that night, and, in my fantasy, it went a little something like this:
“What was up with The Rooster today?”
“I know, right? That was quite the display.”
“The stomping, the yelling, the clapping…was that all strictly necessary?”
“I was mortified.”
“I mean, we get it! Don’t cross the road!! All The Rooster had to do was ask.”
“Exactly. We’re not Kreskin.”
“That’s all I’m saying.”
This fantasy was dashed yesterday, when they crossed the same road, twenty feet south, to a different little not-our-property wood, Gahhhhh!!!!!
Now, I get it. I do. It’s the dead of winter, and forage is greatly diminished, both in quality and in quantity. But we have five acres!!! Can you not follow your beak in a northeasterly direction?! Getting them into lockdown yesterday at 2pm was a real challenge, as they had breached the wood at the north edge of our property, almost through to our northerly neighbour’s side.
Then there was today. Around 8am, I had a call on the home line. Call display told me it was The Man’s cell phone calling, which was weird, because I had just seen him not two minutes ago. He was calling from outside to tell me they were back at it.
You know, I woke up this morning thinking: “Why on earth are my inner thighs so sore?” I wracked my brains and just could not figure it out. As I was chasing my chickens out of my southeasterly neighbour’s field, walking slowly toward the street and our property beyond, crouched down to gently smack their feathered bloomers in the desired direction, it all became very clear.
Half an hour later, I was out again, this time chasing them back over the other road that borders our property, from our southerly neighbour’s yard. Yes, in my jammies. What is this obsession you have with my jammies??!!
When The Man returned home and we settled in for a New Year’s Day movie, I went out to check on them just to be safe, and found them…
…so deep in our north-easterly neighbour’s wood they were in full view of my poor neighbour’s patio door, as was I when I tried to chase them home.
Stop laughing. Right. NOW.
It took both me and The Man, me playing good cop at the fore shaking a plastic container of shelled sunflower seeds, and he playing bad cop in the rear beating his hat against his palm, to shepherd them across the road.
And right into the barn, doors closed behind them. Sorry, girls. It’s a big time out for you today. Happy fricking New Year.