Erica Lucke Dean

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

float like a butterfly, perch like a chicken

Ok, so Ali actually said, "...float like a butterfly and sting like a bee..." but since I'm not writing a post about bees, I figured my edit was appropriate. As usual, I'm writing about chickens. But it's not the typical..."aren't they cute sitting on the sofa watching the vegetarian cooking show?" No, this time I'm tackling something a bit more serious.

Chicken on chicken violence. 

That's right, my sweet little chickens have turned into scrappers. And why is that? Simple. The resident farmer (you know...IDP?) took away the table they were roosting on because he didn't want them sitting in the kitchen window anymore. 

The problem is they didn't get the memo--or maybe they just couldn't read it--but either way, they weren't giving up the primo spot with the kitchen view. Even after one of them gave up and settled on sleeping outside my bathroom window, that still left seven chickens to squeeze on two narrow kitchen window sills, with no table for the overflow.

I stood there, watching chickens pecking chickens, knocking them, one by one, off the window until I couldn't take it anymore. But since I was forbidden to bring back the table, I was forced to improvise.

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And this is why I have a row of chickens sleeping on two saw horses outside my kitchen window. And one chicken perched on the front porch bench. And one outside my bathroom window. This doesn't even count the chickens that go the traditional route and perch in the coops, or on the back of the pigs. (Yes, I have a rooster that sleeps on one of the pigs.)

What can I say? What my chickens lack in sense, they make up in creativity! But would you expect any thing less? 

Until the next time...I'll be watching the turkeys perch on the water bottles and the feeders in their baby pen. 

 

 

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