Cold, windy, awful day, but there they all were, lined up at the gate of their run, impatient to dash out to their free range. Feathers were blowing inside out, but they didn't seem to mind. When I called from the back porch to the cats to come finish up the last of a gallon of ice cream, guess who beat them to container? Yep, the hens. By the time the cats sauntered up, 8 or 9 hens were bobbling their heads up and down, scarfing all the melted icecream they could inhale before I shooed them away. Greedy little girls, they are. Our son Steve and I had to drive them back to their run awhile ago. They didn't mind the blustery cold, but we didn't want to be out there, in the wind and dark, calling "Here, Chick, chick, chick," trying to see barred rocks and black astrolorps in the shadows!" ~G
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