This morning the
Biblical plague of flies in the house told us it was time to move the baby
chickens off the kitchen porch. Between the pen of geese and ducks and the
turkey, and this pen of seven assorted bantam chickens and six younger Maran
hen chicks, the main entry into the house has been one giant stinky drift of
flung feed crumbles and wood shavings for about a month. And whoo-ee was it
time for those birdies to remove from the premises.
The goxen have
grown enormously since they moved out to the barn a few weeks ago, and now the
bantams are standing in the doorway of Hen Cottage, considering the outside
world and the large-sized chickens that already live there. Except for a little
curious pecking and some strong-arming of the duck crumble by the older birds,
who consider anything besides layer pellets to be the height of luxury, things
seem to be going OK.
If you could not
see the backstage machinations around here, what a bucolic paradise it would
seem. Ha!
