Sometimes, I like to take a step back and evaluate whether or not I’ve still got all of my oars in the water. I mean, I’m pretty close to them being both out of the water on a daily basis, but you know…I just want to make sure that I’m still just STANDING at the edge of crazy and I haven’t actually jumped into full-blown-need-medication-possibly-certifiable craziness.
So, a couple of nights ago, when it was REALLY hot, I was pretty worried about the chickens. I know, I know. They were originally jungle fowl and acclimated to heat and humidity, but I’m telling you what, if I dropped these ten chickens into the jungle somewhere, they’d never make it. Not because they’d be eaten by a giant jungle bug that eats chickens, but because they are so spoiled and would be waiting around for someone to make them a delicious jungle snack and wouldn’t look for food on their own…and THEN they’d get eaten by a giant jungle bug. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but I was really worried about them because they were panting and looking at me like I should DO something. I was doing my best, they just thought I should be installing a new central air unit in the coop apparently.
I finally went into the house (where it was blissfully cool) and then sat around and felt guilty because they were still outside in the heat…probably baking…and possibly suffering from some chicken heat ailment. My constantly reeling brain came up with countless tragic chicken situations. I tried to see what was going on in the run from my usual sofa perch, but I couldn’t really tell what they were doing. So, I went and got our binoculars and watched them through the window like some sort of weird poultry creeper. Tom took a picture. I’m not showing it to you because when I end up being committed, I don’t want it to be part of the evidence…but you really should get yourself some binoculars.
I sent poor Tom (everybody say it “POOR TOM”) to the store yesterday to look for misters. Whole town is sold out. There are NONE. NADA. ZIP. So much for that idea. HOWEVER! He brought home a big box fan to put at the end of the run! I set a frozen milk jug of water in front of it and BAM. Instant air conditioner…sort of. The chickens did like it though. The whole flock stood in front of the fan, which was on the “HURRICANE FORCE WIND” setting and let the cool air ruffle their feathers. Cluck stopped panting and everyone looked so much more comfortable. Yay Tom for thinking of getting a fan for the run! (everybody say it “YAY TOM!!!!”). Okay, now stop it, or I won’t be able to live with him.
Last Friday, Emma had a friend over to swim (read as: they scream at each other in the pool). Her father came over to pick up the friend in the early evening and as he came around the back of the house, I was walking by…with a chicken stuffed under my arm.
“Is THAT a CHICKEN????”
“Yes! Isn’t she darling? I LOVE them.”
And then Tom went on to explain to the guy that I’ve become obsessed with poultry, writing for a magazine’s blog, blah-blah-blah. Then Tom offered to show him the coop because Tom has slipped a little toward crazy himself (honestly, he was halfway there already) and thinks my coop is AWESOME.
Because it is.
So we walked back to the coop (I still had Opal stuffed under my arm) and when we came around the corner and he could see the whole thing, he stopped and just said, “Wow…that’s a….that’s quite a coop.”
He obviously just doesn’t get it.
I haven’t really added anything…that I can think of. I just rearrange the stuff on the floor all the time to give them new things to figure out and we ripped out the shelf in the back so that I could haul in a giant fallen branch that they could use as a roost. I’m sure it adds to the neighbors’ dismay that I’m hauling around giant tree branches and disappear into a tiny building with them. I’m just waiting for Edwin (the guy’s wife next door…that’s not really her name, but she looks like a guy, so Greg and I call her Edwin) and Jean (who’s real name is Becky and I can’t remember her name so I insist on calling her Jean) to show up at my door any day now telling me that I can’t raise chickens in a subdivision and could I PLEASE shut up that rooster (Cluck). Of course, I read all the laws and I CAN raise chickens and a rooster in my subdivision so they can just COOL THEIR JETS.
See. I’m making up conversations with people who’s names I don’t even remember.
Possibly…probably…certainly going to end up in some sort of facility.
But at least I can lower their air conditioning bills by installing fans and frozen milk jugs! WHEEEE!