Our little chickens are all feathered out. While the girls and their friends sprouted tule fairy wings, the chicks were gaining real wings. They are just not fluffy anymore, nor are they fitting in their cage very well. So my EGE is busy building a new coop. We started on a chicken tractor, which is a super-cool farm implement by which the chickens can till and fertilize for you (who'd-u-thunk). But it was very unweildy even in the planning stages. So the EGE decided on a regular 4x4 coop with egg collection doors, four nesting boxes and a clever roosting ladder made out of -- what else -- an old wooden ladder.
The girls helped this afternoon. They helped a lot. They helped so much we all got kicked inside to take a nap and get out of the EGE's way.
Most importantly as regards us getting booted in the house, the EGE was worried that I'd put his picture on the internet and all the ladies in internetland who read my blog (all four of you) would fall madly in love with him and be swoonish as if he were the margarine commercial guy.
Fabio. That's my Eng-Gen-Eer... Fabio in the disguise of short salt-and-pepper hair and steel toed boots with khaki pants. Hmm.
I should mention we don't eat margarine. This is in no way a thinly veiled advertisement for whichever brand of whipped hydrogenated fat uses the psuedohunky guy with the thin long hair and the fake-o accent. The more I think (or type, which is almost as good as thinking, right?), maybe the EGE should have his picture in an ad.
Back to the chicken coop. Its construction was briefly interrupted so Madeleine and the EGE could deliver Madeleine's horse Seven to a trainer for a month. Sarah, Grace, Laura and I stayed home to cook dinner. That's clearly what I'm doing right now, you say to yourself. Hey! I can cook and blog at the same time.