Apparently all I am getting from nine of the world’s hungriest and laziest chickens is 1-2 eggs a day. That’s it. I waited forever for an egg, and now I’m waiting for 6-7 more, and while the eggs are pretty damn delicious — or they could taste just like the eggs I buy en masse from Costco (I may never really know) — there just are not enough of them.
I’m pretty sure the chickens are ready. You know how I know this? When I approach them, they crouch in submission, because according to Google they suspect I may be rooster about to impregnate them. I AM NOT KIDDING ABOUT THIS. I want to pick up and shake the damn birds and say, “Ladies, decorum! This is all very untoward!” But I do not. Instead, I try not to think about how much each of my daily eggs has cost me and I beg them to lay some more.
After I spent an hour and a half planting tulips bulbs in the rain, even using a special tool that was supposed to shove the bulbs down deep and out of reach of predators, the chicken dug up each and every bulb and about half of my winter radishes.
I found the ladies eating the outdoor cat food today, food which is… wait for it… made of chicken. On the subject of all things untoward, I tried explaining to them how awful this was but they paid me no heed.
The only time I have gotten them to listen to me was when they ran across the street to my neighbors’ house, something they have now taken to doing almost daily. I ran after them and yelled, GET BACK TO THE HOUSE and then, one at a time, they did just that.
In full disclosure, this picture is actually from the time they escaped and my neighbors had to call them back to my house. Turns out there may or may not be coyotes on the loose in my neighborhood and if these chickens know what’s good for them they’ll stay pretty close to home…