Chicken Run

I do believe it's time for a chicken update. It was May when last I introduced you to our new friends and their cute, fuzzy chicky faces. Clearly much has changed.

Now they can only be called cute if you qualify your definition with "in a Creepy Chicken sort of way."

They are very creepy with their beady little angry eyes, blobs of extraneous flesh glomped onto their faces, and their jerky bobble heads.

All that creepiness aside, I do quite enjoy them.

They were game for chicken races many evenings over the summer. Ha, ha, game. Get it?

Never mind.

The girls and I held the chicken races at dusk on lazy summer evenings. We would start by catching ourselves a chicken . . . half the battle was catching the chickens. Once each of us had a chicken, we we would release them at the starting line, and whichever chicken made it back to the coop first was the winner. 

Even though we have four chickens, Peanut Head never joined in any of our Chicken Games.

He's much too classy for such chicanery.

In spite of the forced racing, the chickens had a peaceful summer in their backyard chicken coop, coming out to free range in the evenings while Gunny Man was locked away inside the house. 

Gunny Man has self control issues.

The cats were very interested in the chickens before they got creepy looking. After that, they just kept their distance. 

One evening I caught Jo Jo stalking a chicken at the back door. The chickens like to hang out on the back porch and poop all over it, why, I have no idea. Perhaps it's Chicken Art. Anyway, Jo Jo looked like she wanted a closer look, so I picked her up, opened the door, and flung her out to the birds. Just like that.

She slightly freaked out, but only for a moment. After that moment passed, she regained her kitty composure and started stalking the chicken like a proper cat.

Well that was a bad idea, because Mr. Creepy Chicken turned around and chased that cat right out of the yard. I think I peed my pants, I was laughing so hard.

Jo Jo doesn't gaze at the chickens from the back door anymore. At least not when I'm around.

She has trust issues.

Chicken Butt.

It's like a photo bomb, but it's a chicken butt.

Triple Chicken Butt. Super obnoxious.

This blog is going so down hill.

 

We got our first eggs from our fine feathered friends this past week. Their little eggs are so adorable next to our from-the-store extra large eggs.

Um . . . one of these things is not like the others. 

Peanut Head read on the internet that chickens need to be trained to lay their eggs in the nesting boxes and not where they poop. Which is, obviously, everywhere. So, apparently golf balls are going to trick them into not pooping in their nesting boxes.

Because chickens are so stoooooopid.

Peanut Head has been waiting for this day for a long time. I almost feel sorry for the could-have-been chicken babies. Sniff.

Snarf.