Rooster lays an egg

Remember this pic? The one where I told Chicken Lady that the brown one on the right looked far more rooster-like than the other supposedly same age, same breed bird on the left?

She assured me they were both hens. I was skeptical.

The other day, only four of the five chickens were in the chicken run area. Where was the fifth? Wait! It’s in the roost! Hang on. That’s the one that looks like a rooster. Is it possible it’s just hanging out up there, needing a break from all those females? (My husband with three daughters could relate.)

A couple of short funnies and a missed opportunity. Maybe.

I relayed to Hubby a conversation with a friend about how I wasn’t particularly interested in living to a ripe old age. She responded snippily, “Then I hope you die young.”

Hubby lovingly responded: “Too late for that.”

~~~

I was listening with earbuds to one of my new favorite songs, “Trees” by Twenty One Pilots. (Linked to save you the trouble, M.) The last few seconds pretty much enrapture me. I was thus fully engaged when Hubby came over and said something I didn’t hear. I held up a “just a moment” finger, not wanting to interrupt those last few glorious seconds.

Then I felt like a jerk, so I pulled out an earbud to listen to him. “So we only got one egg today? Bummer,” and he walked away.

The Predator Becomes the Prey

I found this story in my drafts folder from about two years ago!

Raccoon photo courtesy of Pixabay.

We spotted a raccoon. In our yard.

Normally this would be met with a little excitement, mingled with a twinge of fear as in: Don’t let the kids get close; it could be rabid.

But tonight the sight meant: We have chickens! Get that b*stard out of here!

No one said that, of course. The children, after all. But Hubs and I were thinking it.

He grabbed a stick and chased after the raccoon, which jumped on the lattice fence. As it was crawling down the other side, Hubs jabbed the stick through a hole and got the racoon in its belly. It fell the remaining two feet and scurried off.

[If you love all creatures, great and small, including chicken killers, my apologies.]

“That will keep him away. But not for long,” Hubs said.

The children went on the offensive. Armed with sticks and a surprisingly functional  homemade bow and arrow, they kept guard, marching back and forth along the fence.

The chicken has landed

Four chickens, to be exact. As you may recall, our coop was smaller than expected, so Husband constructed a “chicken run” to give our birds a little more free range.

My youngest daughter has become one with the chickens. She spends time playing in their yard daily.

Backing up a bit, we planned to buy our chickens from the same store we bought the other supplies. Only those chickens were $20 each. I was like, uh, no. That price is fowl. (Thank you. I’ll show myself out.)

A quick craigslist search found me chickens nearby for $7 each. I called up the owner to confirm the price and that they were old enough to tell the hens from the roosters. I hung up with a triumphant smile.

Hubs was less confident.