Spring, spring, spring.

Those tracks in the snow from yesterday? They be gone. There is semi-green grass in their wake, and tiny lakes of water. (You try to get a Great Dane to pee and make boom-boom when it’s raining and puddly out. I defy you.)

Today’s high was near 50F, I went out in a hoodie and drove with the sunroof open, in the last week of January. Mother Nature may be gaslighting us, but I am going to enjoy every balmy minute.

The girls are ecstatic. When they came out from the run and saw the grass, they fell on it with both fervour and gusto. For the first time in well over a week, they have ranged the property, scratched the leaves for worms, and come running up the driveway when they hear the courtyard gate, just in case I’m bringing them treats. (I usually am.)

I didn’t realise how much I missed seeing them out the kitchen window. They were romping on the pile of uncut logs stacked in front of the furnace, preening themselves in the sun, and settling in for a group nap under the pine tree. I love my chickens.

I would have written this post hours ago, but I awoke this morning (prepare yourself, dear reader), to no internet service. It was terrifying, as though someone were pinching closed the tube of an invisible oxygen mask. I was fortunately to have a Time Warner technician at the house only a few hours later, and he has released me from my torture.

In so doing, he worked both inside and outside the house. Inside, he met Billie, of course. The technician has a 5-pound Teacup Yorkshire Terrier, so we had a good laugh over that. Then, he had work to do outside the  house. He did so encircled by ten hens, inquisitively watching his every move, and diving at him every time he took something out of his tool belt. (Hey, it might be treats. You never know.) I’m sure it was a visit he won’t soon forget.

I have another post to publish today, a biggie, but it’ll have to wait; I need to watch Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, because I now have “Spring, spring, spring” stuck in my head…


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