Saturday, July 12, 2008

Feathers Ruffled, Wet Hens Included

There's Grace Hannah going out to feed the chickens. You can't fully appreciate her ensemble in this distance shot, but let me describe if for you: She's wearing a daisy-print sundress approximately four sizes too big; she's barefoot and she has someone's Disney memorabilia, also about four sizes too big, on her head. Note the henhouse is only painted as high as the girls could reach. I am letting go of my control freak nature. One breath at a time. Also, we've been a little busy with the nonstopness of summer. In through the nose, out through the mouth...

Surprise! There was an egg. The FIRST egg! Oh, it's a big day for a little omelet chez Suite.

Here's the sweet Cochin hen we believe responsible for the beautiful egg. Thanks, Shelly, my chicken guru!

Here's one of the Kookoo Moron chickens. I am not kidding about them being hard to love. You thought it was just poetic license, me renaming the Cuckoo Marans, didn't you? If you could see this hen in action, you'd wonder that my Lamaze breathing can get me through with such WEIRD chickens.

She's all wet. Literally. Someone dumped out my failed Friendship Bread batter for the chickens. Sigh. I had kept it alive for months, but then when our relatives were here.... well, I forgot to stir it. Or feed it. It's a good thing it's just yeast and not a pet or anything.

Anyway this Moron chicken got batter all over her. I saw her when it happened, and sort of shrugged it off. Well, apparently she couldn't do the same. A few hours later (alright, the next morning) she was covered in a hard candy shell of baked-on sticky mess. Doesn't it make you want to run straight for suburbia?

Then I had to chase her around the little chicken yard, because she's not that bright.

Then I had to wash her with soap and warm water. I felt like a member of the Audobon Society, only with a less lovable rescuee.

All cleaned up. But still madder than a wet hen. Also Kookoo. Have I mentioned that?


Barb said...

Jane likes to really dress up for important jobs, too. I don't want to say the neighbors are beginning to talk but maybe it's good that you live in the country...
I'm sorry about your childhood homestead. But a hard-won lesson I've learned recently is that sometimes things like this have to happen so you don't keep the idea of going home again in the back of your mind.

Gosh, it's really heartbreaking, though. Blessings on you.

Amydeanne said...

I haven't heard anyone talk about friendship bread for years!

Chickie Momma said...

You just inspired my next post... oh, the JOYS of friendship chicken!! hahahahaha

Farm Chick said...

Ah, I am amazed at your compassion for the crusty, baked on, chicken. And frankly surprised that the other freaky chicken didn't try to eat the poor thing.

Mmm, friendship chicken...

Farm Chick said...

Umm, ignoramus friend here.

Miss G's fashion sense is rivaled only on the runways of Montana back country....:)

You go girly-girl!