Sounds like a scathing insult (you…..chicken sitter!), but isn’t. In fact, for chickeneers who wonder if they’ll ever vacation again, a trusted chicken sitter can be your very best friend.
This past week, I was chicken sitter for NotHeedleyWendy, owner of Purrfect Pet Sitting. She has 8 10-month-old laying hens, and I’m proud to say that I was the one who infected her with the chickeneering bug.
I thought I’d show you some of the pics I took of her girls while I was looking after them. I dropped in one them once a day, at midday, to give them the awesome treat package their momma had prepared for them to have each day (baby spinach, strawberries, oats, corn, sunflower seeds, and I’m sure I’m missing something), change their water, check on their food, collect eggs, and scoop poop. They were remarkably hospitable.
One can’t discuss Wendy’s chickens without mentioning Sausage. When Wendy and I picked out our chicks on the same day, at the same time, from Chicken Debbie the Oracle of Agway (my 2.0, Wendy’s 1.0), the bank had made an error in our favour.
The Hatchery Who Shall Not Be Named had accidentally included some Gold-Laced Wyandottes, so Wendy and I had the option of taking a gold one in place of one or more of the Silver-Laced Wyandottes we had ordered. Being a monochromatic kind of girl, I declined. Wendy did not, and Sausage is the outcome of that decision:
In’t she purdy?! In addition to being a gorgeous girl, she has the biggest damned Wynadotte comb I’ve ever seen (seriously…it looks like it’s going to fall off):
Sausage just loves the chicken butt handshake. That was my first order of business each day.
I also had a lot of attention from this Golden Comet, who is either Gladys or Frances, I’m not sure:
It was a genuine pleasure to look after Wendy’s girls, and they handled their five-day confinement with grace.
The moral of the story is, cherish your chicken sitter, gentle reader, for, without her, you wouldn’t be able to vacation and almost not get back because of Nemo and have your luggage lost.