The chickens are running riot. I’m having all manner of trouble with them and thinking of showing them a packet of bread sauce as a severe warning.
They keep finding their way over the wall into next doors garden and after having to round them up before work a few weeks ago in best clothes and heels I decided they can’t be trusted to free range while I’m out. This means in the morning I only let them into the run not into the garden. They are a bit disgruntled with this and this morning when I went to collect the eggs they made a bid for freedom. Readers, it didn’t end well.
I was all dressed for work and had just popped to get the eggs before I left. Two eggs were in the nesting box and one was on the floor of the hen house so I picked up the two eggs and opened the door of the house to collect the third one. The hens had clearly been planning their escape all night and made a b-line for the door as soon as I opened it. Bearing in mind I was holding two eggs at the time I pushed them back into the house and tried to close the door knowing if they escaped it would mean hours of rounding them back up again. As I went to close the door quickly I managed to drop and smash the eggs right onto my shoe. grrrrrr.
2/3 egg casualties
1/2 shoe casualties
3/3 smug hens.
After work I found my forgiving side and let them out for a roam around. Fair enough. I was in and out of the house doing things and popped out to the car leaving the front door open. I came back to find three hens IN. MY. HOUSE!
I picked them up, told them off, then plonked them outside and slammed the door in their stupid faces. Try that again and I’m going to open the oven door and let them walk straight in.
So the love affair is well and truly over. (Until tomorrow when I will collect three more eggs, thank them and think how comical they are again)
Those of you with notions of keeping chickens, take a sad look at your future right here. I’m warning you, the struggle is real!
For more chicken stories read