The new chickens lived, so I went and got four more, and now have a proper flock of eight hens, including Kate, the original white Sussex. Of course, introducing the new chickens proved to be as traumatizing as I expected as by 8:45 last night two of the new black chickens weren’t in the coop with the others, and were nowhere to be found. I figured they were tucked up under the coop.

I phoned downstairs to Calvin to ask him to go out and see what he could do and went to bed. This morning, I got a message from Calvin saying he couldn’t see the two black chickens but figured if they were that far under the coop, they should be okay until morning. I went out and opened the coop and counted seven hens. I guess one of the two from under the coop just casually decided to join the flock as though they’d done everything right.

I noticed George the tuxedo cat standing on the fence at the bottom of the yard, and this caused my eye to fall upon a black chicken on my neighbour’s driveway. I grabbed a pet carrier and hopped into my car and drove down the hill, around the corner and into their yard where I parked and started looking for the errant bird. I called chick chick chick chick and then saw her inside a cedar hedge. I made a lunge, caught the hen, put her into the carrier and drove home, triumphant.

My cousin Ruth’s daughter Daniela took hundreds of photos and was kind enough to send me a whole bunch of them, and guess what I learned? There is an age limit to sleeveless clothing, and I believe I’ve reached it. Seeing the crepey top of my arms made me realize I can’t run around like that anymore as it’s going to scare people.

And speaking of scary while the relatives were here, I noticed a large abscess forming on George’s lower chin area. At one point I was able to grab him and apply a hot moist cloth which made him start purring, so I figured that was helpful to the cat. I believe that helped the abscess finally burst, and then the cat ran around with a large ugly exposed raw-looking wound, but now it’s starting to heal. With these cats, surgery plus a cone would be a death sentence, so it’s Doctor Moni for them.

I remember the night before their spaying and neutering when I had to block the cat door so they couldn’t get out. A magazine rack filled with 20 pounds of barbells did nothing as they worked to push that aside. I got masking tape and wrapped the pet door shut, but after an hour they’d almost worked that off so by the end of the night there was a full roll of tape covering the wall from floor to ceiling.

Now, seven years later, I wonder why I didn’t just play hardball with the cats and lock them into a bedroom. It’s funny, isn’t it, how we realize we were completely mentally disabled just a few short years earlier. It means a few years from now when I think back on chicken ownership I’ll go, wow, I must’ve been certifiable.

Here’s something I didn’t know. When you go to Amazon.ca you read reviews just from Canadians, and when you go to Amazon.com you can see American reviews. I got such a lovely review from the U.S. but sadly it doesn’t appear on Amazon.ca so I find that very surprising, don’t you? You’d think no matter where a product is bought, all reviews from all over the world should pertain. Maybe it’s just books?