Two Down, Seven To Go

Our chickens must have nine lives. HH lets them out every evening to peck around the yard. HH does not supervise them. The three dogs who killed the first two chickens lay on the porch and watch them. That, in my opinion, is asking for trouble. Asking for Chicken Massacre II, The Sequel. But HH says they'll be fine.

Last night, HH forgot about the chickens while he went to town to pick up the #1 son from church practice for Friday night's Easter program. They didn't get home until after 9:00 p.m. HH sent #1 to make sure the little peckers were put up. He leaves the door to their renovated dog pen open, and they go back in when they're ready to roost. Or so says HH.

The #1 son reported that the chickens were hanging around outside the pen. INSIDE the pen were Ann the black shepherd and Grizzly the beagle/lab mix, munching away on the pan of chicken feed. INSIDE the roost, or the "chicken box," as #1 called it, was Genius the orange-striped cat. Talk about laying in ambush! #1 shooed the pets out of the chicken pen so the chickens could come in.

I think this little scenario is nature's foreshadowing. I also think the #1 son needs to pay more attention to the care and feeding of chickens than the eating of chicken. The "chicken box," indeed. That's how you buy an eight-piece with mashed potatoes and slaw.