Calvin thought we were doing well enough with our four chickens to warrant a couple more, as he said our flock was awfully small.  So I emailed the guy I’d bought them from and he said he had three left, so would I take all of them given he didn’t want to end up with one chicken.  I said sure, and as Calvin was off helping his mom at the ranch I drove over with the dog kennel and he stuck them inside.

I brought them into the coop and opened the door as they were just sitting there, quietly, and let them make their way out in their own time.  Their former home was flat, however our coop has a ramp so it took them a couple of hours to venture down it, but once they had they joined the other four pecking around the yard.

Carl the handyman had warned me dawn and dusk is when marauders such as raccoons will try to beat up chickens, and so I’m vigilant with getting the hens inside and the coop hatch closed.  So on the new chickens’ first night in the coop I went out expecting them to have joined the other four as it was getting dark, however my four were in, and the three new ones were hanging around in their yard.

I thought what the hell am I gonna do as I’ve never wrangled a chicken before, so I thought maybe luring them with food with work.  I went into the coop and threw down some special chicken feed and of course my four pounced right on it, but the other three remained out, looking in at me.

I left the coop and stood staring at the chickens.  I thought well, maybe they’ll hunker down under the coop and be fine.  However I knew any predator would easily be able to attack them there, so had to figure out a way to get those hens in.

Oh crap.  There’s no gate to the fenced chicken yard so I had to straddle the chain link and then woof! a heavy landing going downhill on the other side.  By now I was sweating from the effort of getting over the fence, it was getting darker by the minute and I thought I have got to get these chickens into the coop.

By now anger was helping a lot, and so I decided I had to run down the chicken closest to the ramp, caught it, it squawked like mad, but didn’t peck, and I was able to throw it into the open doorway.  I managed to run down the other two and one by one grabbed them and threw them into the coop, sweating mightily.

Another skill to add the list perhaps?  This to add to the several culinary successes I had over the past couple of weeks.  A fab spinach quiche and prune tart for Patricia, successful chicken with thyme and honey for the Crones, four different baked goods for the former gym coffee group, and finally chicken salad for Elsa and lettuce chicken wraps for Marie.

When the Crones were here a stink bug flew into the bowl of tomato salad, which were chopped with onion and oil and vinegar.  I managed to fish it out, but it fell off my fork, whereby it fell right into Frieda’s mouth as she thought it was food.  And it kind of was as it was stink bug marinated in oil and vinegar.  She seemed fine with it though three days later had a bout of terrible diarrhea but with her it could be the glutinous amounts of cat feces she wolfs from the pile of dirt I keep for gardening.