So it’s been about four or five days since the Peep Squad took over the run. Every night, we’ve had to chase them down in the coop or come up with a variety of noises that I’m SURE the neighbors can hear, to try to get them to come IN. You’d think any self-respecting chicken would be packing up her beach bag and heading back to the coop at sunset. Nope. NADA. ZIP. ZILCH. NONE.
It’s frankly quite irritating and a little frustrating and soon you’re envisioning frying them all.
But I keep my cool. Mostly.
So tonight I went out at dusk and my husband came with for moral support. I picked a big basket of chickweed and headed for the coop singing “CHICKCHICKCHICK” at the very top of my lungs…I swear, the neighbors think I’m absolutely out of my mind and soon to be institutionalized. The excited peeping started out in the run and there was a lot of running and hopping and tripping over each others big scaly feet.
They KNOW that basket. I KNOW they know that basket…and I use it to my advantage.
So I sailed on into the coop with my basket and they high tailed it for the ramp and door. I threw big clumps of chickweed in several areas in the back of the coop and they all took a pile and started scratching and eating. Perfect time to count fluffy butts.
Ten. TEN. I count again…TEN. UGH.
Tom looks back outside and the two Buff Orpington Rooster Brothers are standing at the other end of the run looking insolently at the coop.
I’m in the coop “CHICKCHICKCHICK”‘n it up and talking baby talk and making peeping sounds and throwing grain around like a lawn sprinkler. I could see two sets of scaly pink feet at the base of the ramp. Eep! They were considering making their move.
They came creeping up, drawn by their insane addiction to chickweed, and just when the first one was about to step in…Oprah Wingfrey, one of the black sex link pullets, rushed the door from the other direction. I grabbed at her…which, in turn, scared the two Buff Orpington Rooster Brothers (it has to be capitalized…they’re like their own special ENTITY. Want one? Both? No?) away from the door to the other end of the pen.
So Tom resorted to a series of owl noises that he thought sounded scary…but the chickens disagreed.
They came creeping up AGAIN. I tried not breath…threw a little more grain…they were both standing in doorway…ANNNNND….Oprah rushed the door again, this time with the naughty Barred Rock in tow.
I windmilled my arms around and kept the two pullets in and the two BORB (Buff Orpington Rooster Brothers) flipped out in grand style and ran to the other end of the run.
If this wasn’t a semi-family show, I’d insert some colorful swearing right about HERE.
So Tom took it up a notch outside and scared them from that end of the run, toward the coop. They were traveling at about a million miles an hour at this point. They’re like little buff colored…cannon balls. Jerks.
This time I had the rest of the flock examining a nice new bunch of chickweed that I’d placed WAY on the other side of the coop. It’s not just a hatrack (points to head).
I trickled grain onto the wood in front of the doorway and the crazy little knot heads slowly climbed the ramp and stepped into the coop. YESSSSSSSSS!
I was leaping through the coop I slammed the run door and I heard the ramp go clattering into the run outside. YAY!!!!
You know I turn fifty this year. I would also like to keep living in this neighborhood without people running when they see me. Someone needs to explain this to these chickens.