ode to a day in the life of the chickens
the chickens spend their days in the yard now.
their barrel is too small for them to do anything but sleep in. my mini-urban farm chores: every morning i use a cardboard box to transport them from barrel to backyard before i go to work.
on rare occasions their escapades extend into the parking lot, the front sidewalk and the neighbor's parking strip. i've had my moments, chasing the girls down the parking lot with their silly little golden pantaloons and frantic chicken sounds.
i spread their crumble food about the yard to encourage foraging.
i also throw down a mixture of flaxseed, bran flakes and oats. and my new invention is chopping finely or even grating fruits and veggies which are no longer appealing to me. yellow celery, mealy apples, cucumber peels. they seem to like it. they eat as much greens as they do chicken food now. i trust them to avoid the morning glories, tomatoes and eggplant (nightshade plants)—and so far they haven't proven me wrong.
when its warm the chill under the pine trees, under the porch or alongside the house. they are always together unless vernon has gotten himself into another impossible situation. when the clouds roll over they are at their most active, happy with a respite from the sun.
if i sit down on the grass they will gladly hang out with me, crawling into my lap and pecking at my toes. i am easily caught up in watching their habits and antics.
milo does his best impression of a wild cat, stalking and springing upon his poultry prey. the chickens bounce across the yard and milo bounces right after them. he never catches them and after two weeks in the yard together everyone is still alive and well.
by the end of the evening they gather round the back door and make a lot of noise until i bring them inside.