Turns out, I’m not the only one at my house who’s eager to dig in the dirt. The chickens want to be scratching outdoors. Having outgrown the basement bathroom, they are now housed in the garage in four giant dog crates. I think of it as a staging area for their final move to the yet-to-be-built “Coop de Ville” in a couple of weeks.

Martha Graham (left), Darla (with beard) and Isadora (front) . Betty the rooster is on the perch at the back of the cage.

The last time it rained, we made the mistake of gathering up some worms from the paved road and offering them to the chickens. They loved them, of course, but now they are sure our fingers are fat yummy worms.

Feeding time has become challenging. Yesterday, one of the chickens grabbed my finger and wouldn’t let go. The chickens are also fascinated with my polarfleece shirt, zippers, buttons, rings, watches and anything else that could possibly be interpreted as a bug. Those old grain crumbles you’ve been feeding us? Blech! Bring on the grubs and wiggly things!

P.S. My boy Trouble is doing well, but another chicken beat him to the first attempt at crowing. “Betty” wins that award. Now, what are we gonna do with more than one rooster? (I know, I know, don’t say “stew pot”)

This entry was posted on Thursday, May 15th, 2008 at 10:41 am and is filed under Chickens, Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.