...but all this warm and fuzzy stuff reminds me of an old woman who lives with 100 cats. come on girls get a life.
Well, I can't speak to what the `girls' should do but, as a long-in-the-tooth guy who can barely tolerate the two cats we have and only hoards memories (while I'm still able), I can say that "warm and fuzzy" had nothing to do with what was initially my trying different ways of warning or calming the pullets with as little effort as possible.
Being a fairly cynical fellow, I take my inspiration where I find it and, as I get older, I'm more and more inclined to the Ecclesiastical point of view, i.e., `there is nothing new under the sun'. So, it is nice to be surprised. And, what started out as calls for the chooks, that slowly altered over time by observing their responses to them, eventually evolved into a lullabye that I've sung to both our youngest grandson and now, our granddaughter:
Little chickens wander home,
Little chickens wander home,
Though `til they do
They roam, roam, roam.
Rooster Dawg,
He leads them `round.
Cluck, cluck, cluck
Oh, what a sound.
Cicadas thrumming
In the trees.
Night drifts in
Upon the breeze.
No more bugs
And no more fun.
Little chickens
Dream of sun.
*repeat*
So, it's more, at least for me, just another means of keeping all those frozen cats of fogey constipation from weighing down what's left of my imagination. And, good on the chooks for `egging' me on... Now, please excuse me while I go check the leghold sets to see if there's a muse eating fox to dispatch.