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?