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- #131
We finished cleaning up after ourselves at my sister-in-law's place around 6:00 yesterday...a big job trying to clean a garage that has housed 43 chickens for a week while 10 are still in residence. I had to take a break in the middle of the day because two insisted that they needed to lay and could not possibly be expected to perform with so much activity going on, and didn't like that things had been moved. I swear chickens can be worse than cats about change to their furnishings.
I switched my focus to stripping sheets off or beds to launder and packing up. When I tiptoed out about an hour later to see if they were done, I discovered the BPR still fussing away in the cat carrier with one of the Easter Eggers staring cold death at her. I heard a strange rustling and looked down and discovered that the second Easter Egger had somehow (don't ask me how) escaped from the enclosed side of the garage and was trying to make due with a flower pot:
She was way down inside the pot at first, but got anxious when I came back with the camera. I moved the pot inside the enclosed part of the garage but of course by doing so, made it unacceptable as a nesting spot. At long last the BPR vacated the cat carrier, having contributed nothing and all the hens were back in the dog run. No eggs found anywhere.
Finally everything was ready, we placed the two young Freedom Rangers, Smoke and Toast in a separate dog crate, gathered up the 8 mature hens, snagged the cat from under the bed and placed her in her carrier and away we went for the 2 hour drive home. When we arrived I tucked one of the BPRs under my arm and carried her up to the run. As soon as she was released she started making a really unusual noise, really loud and intense and unlike anything I'd heard a chicken do before. I suppose it could have been a "why am I alone" type of call, but it almost sounded like a chicken gospel number full of "hallelujia" and "praise the Lord".
It took a while to get everyone settled before I could grab some dinner and a glass of wine with my husband on the front patio. Then it was back to the chicken coop to discover that all 10 chickens, including the new 6-week-olds had put themselves to bed for the night, even though the new girls had never been in that run or coop before. Mind you, they were tucked into the corner under the poop-slide, but I was grateful that I didn't have to chase them around in the dark. Walk the dogs, find the toothbrush and hit the sack.
Glad to be home.
I switched my focus to stripping sheets off or beds to launder and packing up. When I tiptoed out about an hour later to see if they were done, I discovered the BPR still fussing away in the cat carrier with one of the Easter Eggers staring cold death at her. I heard a strange rustling and looked down and discovered that the second Easter Egger had somehow (don't ask me how) escaped from the enclosed side of the garage and was trying to make due with a flower pot:
She was way down inside the pot at first, but got anxious when I came back with the camera. I moved the pot inside the enclosed part of the garage but of course by doing so, made it unacceptable as a nesting spot. At long last the BPR vacated the cat carrier, having contributed nothing and all the hens were back in the dog run. No eggs found anywhere.
Finally everything was ready, we placed the two young Freedom Rangers, Smoke and Toast in a separate dog crate, gathered up the 8 mature hens, snagged the cat from under the bed and placed her in her carrier and away we went for the 2 hour drive home. When we arrived I tucked one of the BPRs under my arm and carried her up to the run. As soon as she was released she started making a really unusual noise, really loud and intense and unlike anything I'd heard a chicken do before. I suppose it could have been a "why am I alone" type of call, but it almost sounded like a chicken gospel number full of "hallelujia" and "praise the Lord".
It took a while to get everyone settled before I could grab some dinner and a glass of wine with my husband on the front patio. Then it was back to the chicken coop to discover that all 10 chickens, including the new 6-week-olds had put themselves to bed for the night, even though the new girls had never been in that run or coop before. Mind you, they were tucked into the corner under the poop-slide, but I was grateful that I didn't have to chase them around in the dark. Walk the dogs, find the toothbrush and hit the sack.
Glad to be home.
