Update #4,582:
Still. No. Egg. (sigh)
Not only that,my chickens are...not very smart, I think. Today I had the great idea (after having a friend pass away, being veryvery sick the past week , returning to work, having 2 horrendous work days, a wound that looks like a zombie bite and being on antibiotics; that is my caveat, lol) of this:
I am going to finally set some of my chooks free to graze, attended, on my front lawn. Whilst enjoying a glass of wine, antibiotics be damned. To celebrate the end of the bad week. They have never free ranged. I am a paranoid chicken owner. Nary a chipmunk let alone a feral cat or raccoon will bust into my Fort Knox of coops.
So I am sitting on my front lawn in a chair with a glass of Gallo (with ice. classy). My legs are hairy and exposed. No bra. Red chicken Sloggers on, a real fashion statement. I bring my chickens out for a rare glorious afternoon of freedom. I look like a total Piney--I have resisted the notion my whole life, although I've lived in the Pine Barrens half of it. I make fun of Pineys. My neighbors are all Pineys. My neighbors all have chickens and hairy legs too. I guess I am a Piney. Whatever.
I bring out my Brahma bantam girls and my Favacauna. They head right for the shade garden, could care less about the lush green 1/2 acre of weeds and a schmear of dead grass that is my front yard. They go under rhododendrons, hide, try to eat the tasty (poisonous?) leaves, the shiny red (toxic?) holly berries, the mulch. I throw scratch, I offer mealworms, I make chicken noises. I chase them onto the grass with my hairy legs and glass of wine. I'm pretty sure my neighbors across the street think I have lost my mind, as I am running around talking to (apparently) myself while drinking, hairy and resplendent.
After about half an hour of this I gave up, brought them back in the coop, grabbed 2 of my Silkies (hey! at least they can't fly off, no barbicels!) and brought them out to graze. In terror they ran to the woodpile at the side yard, heading to the safety of their coop. Olive (my brown one) almost broke her stupid neck trying to squeeze in through the chain link fence. Big Bird stood on top of the woodpile and squawked, pathetically. I finally gave up and here I sit, drinking my wine, telling my tale of woe.
Why can't I have normal pets? I have 3 dogs, none of whom like to go outside. Hello, you're a freaking dog! Enjoy the great outdoors. Yeah, no thanks. The second I let them out they are barking to come in. My chickens? They refuse to lay eggs, and when I try to introduce them to the joys of nature and free ranging, they just want to go back to the safety of their prison.
Does anyone else have stupid chickens that don't even want a taste of freedom? Methinks I have spoiled them far, far too much, and they're just used to the good life now. Either that or they have Stockholm syndrome.
Later~
Cindi
emmylou, even still her hair is fake and is 'silver' and wicked expensive 
Yay!!!! 
