My Tale (Tail?) of Whoah Whoah Woe


In the Brooder
9 Years
May 12, 2010
West Central Indiana
Monday I brought home my first ever chickens. They are grown, so they went into the tractor that I built for them.

Anyway, yesterday at three AM I woke up in a panic because it was thundering and I wasn't sure the new set up was water-tight.

I threw some clothes on, grabbed my flashlight, put on my crocks and my husband's insulated flannel shirt and headed outside to check on them.

I totally forgot that one set of deck stairs gets really slippery when wet and headed right down them in a hurry.

My feet flew right out from under me and I landed on my posterior very hard. So there I was at three AM on my rear in breath-taking pain and nobody knew I was out there or likely to hear me if I hollered.

After a few minutes, I decided I wasn't broken and got up to peek in on the girls. Two of them were in their nesting box and one was outside it, under the shade board, but looking wet and miserable.

I grabbed a plastic tote, unlocked the tractor, rounded them all up, and brought them in the house, terrified the whole time that they would die of pneumonia.

I took them in the bathroom to look them over and dry them off -- to discover they were barely even damp -- probably from me dragging them out of their shelter in the pouring rain.

At this point, my husband woke up and came in to use the restroom. There I was, sitting on the lid to the toilet, towel drying chickens.

I put the poor things back in their tote, carried them into our bedroom, and put a baby gate over the tote so they'd stay in there and went back to bed.

My poor behind was so stiff and tender in the morning that I was walking like I'd aged thirty years overnight.

My 17 y/o daughter scolded me about the importance of using the buddy system if I decide to go outside at three AM again.

This morning before he left for work, my husband told me not to bruise my other cheek today.

But my chickens are okay!


10 Years
Jun 8, 2009
MidCity, New Orleans
You're lucky... last couple times I've slipped down the stairs (2 or 3 MAX!) I've either sprained an ankle or dislocated a finger. I'd've taken a bruised bum over both of those experiences!

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