Let's Spend The Night Together

So, ya know those moments? The ones when you realize just that fraction of a second too late that you've screwed up and screwed up royal?! Today I found myself home in the early afternoon, after attending a meeting in town. It was sunny for the first time in days and I thought it was time to get the peeps out doors for a little Vitamin D. Mark nearly has their new digs ready so I carried them outside in a bucket and checked out the surroundings before letting them loose. There will be a nesting box with outside-access which is, at this point, still a big hole in the wall. I nailed a piece of leftover lattice over the opening to keep out the cats. Check! The other walls are covered with wire. Check! The door is covered with wire. Check! The latch is installed to keep the door closed. Check! I scout the dirt floor for chickie-dangers and close the door..... Just as the latch clicks.....shit! No latch for the inside. So there I stand, peeps in the bucket and me in the chicken pen. And no one around to call for help. I check my pocket. Nope, no cell phone. Would I even call the kids? What, so they can stand outside the pen and laugh? Maybe take pictures? Monica would Twitter this for SURE!

It was a brief moment of panic. Just long enough to think I'd be spending more time than intended with my new feathered friends. Take a big breath and begin to investigate. I was grateful Mark had run out of staples when he was installing the fencing and hadn't come back to thoroughly capture every tiny edge of wire with a heavy-duty, industrial staple . I managed to wiggle one staple free and reach my arm towards the latch. It was farther than I thought and the chicken wire was grabbing at my shirt and skin, foiling my escape. Eventually I contorted enough to reach the latch and set myself free. Thank God!

I dug through my craft drawer for some floral wire to attach to the latch until Mark rigs up something more attractive. I sat with the girls for a while longer, amazed at their tiny versions of dirt baths - chicken hygiene accomplished by rolling around in a hollow in the dirt, fluffing their wings in the dust -- really adorable when done by a three-week-old chick. It didn't take them long to start scratching around, looking for bugs. Before long, they'll be spending the night out here but tonight, they're back in the washtub, stinking up the laundry room.

If You'll Be My Dixie Chicken

New to the household this spring are these little girls - my flock of six little peeps. Although Glo and Hope have each given one a rapper name, I'm fighting them with my own ideas. There are two Buff Orpingtons who will retain their honey-gold coloring. - I'm thinking Ginger and Honey West. There are two New Hampshire Reds that will probably look exactly like Rhode Island Reds because, after all, Rhode Island is small enough that some trampy poultry could have snuck out up to New Hampshire and started a new brood. I'm toying with Scarlet and Ruby for them. Then there is one Delaware that will be white with black wing tips and one Austrolorp which will be a gorgeous black hen with dark eyes (I've had those before). I'm toying with Julia and Mabel respectively. As Mark is building their new dwelling, they are living in their washtub, eatin' and poopin'. What a difference a fortnight makes ... from fluffy little Easter treats, they've turned into gawky little birds and the girls aren't as fond of them. "They're feet are bumpy and weird."Aw, lookit that face. I'm hoping for some sunnier weather so they can be moved out to their new digs without a huge adjustment - they ain't smellin' like roses these days. In the meantime, the old hens are in the old pen, keeping us in green eggs until it's time for them to go "on holiday"... that was a Chicken Run reference, for those who aren't familiar. Unless Mommazilla over at Cheaper Than Therapy wants to let them run at her place.