Erica Lucke Dean

"Making the world a better place, one book at a time."

chow lives

Yes, it's true. Henry Chow lives...just not here.  

I spotted our former cat as he crossed the neighbor's yard yesterday. I called out to him, and he stopped and turned to me. He even acknowledged me in that way cats have. Meaning he seemed to blink a few times before walking away. It was as if he was telling me, "Chow don't live there anymore." But he certainly lives somewhere. He looked fat and happy. 

And speaking of living arrangement... 

The high-tech redneck hubby had the week off and his stay-cation started with the demolition of the old chicken coops. Then, with cold weather moving into the North Georgia Mountains, the rest of the week was devoted to building a new (better) coop.  

It's not quite up to my standards (in other words, I wouldn't live there) but our chickens will be living in style! That is, if we could convince them to move in. Chickens are weird. Beautiful new house ready for occupancy and they prefer their broken down perch. We had to catch them all (in the dark, I might add) and shove them into their new house. 

This was another moment film crews would have eaten up. Thankfully, we don't have a film crew. I sprained my ankle, we broke the "broken down perch" and we weren't able to outsmart the youngest rooster. But we did manage to get most of the chickens into their new house for the night. And just in time too, as temperatures dipped below freezing.  

Tonight, I left them to their own devices. If they want to be cold, so be it. I'm not chasing chickens in the dark with a bum ankle.  

I guess if you build it, they just might not come after all. 

Oh well...we'll convince them eventually. I'll wager the first snow fall of the year will drive our chickens into their toasty warm house.  Until then, I guess we'll have to keep nudging them in that direction. One of these days, I'll have my front porch back.

Until the next time...I'll be icing my ankle. 

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