Monday, April 23, 2007

Lazy Sunday:

We took our first family motorcycle trip of the season, sans Grace (Sadly. She usually rides with me, so I felt a little alone). What a great afternoon for a ride! It was a bit too windy for a long ride, but nothing dangerous.
We also took the dogs out for another walk earlier today on the south trail, which has dried up almost completely. There were hundreds of wildflowers growing along the wooded paths (may apples, mainly, and another I wasn't able to identify); I'll try to take another walk when I'm off on Tuesday and take my camera and wildflower book so I can figure out what they are.
Lovely, lovely spring!
I moved my chickie girls into the coop today, and the older gals were beside themselves, trying to get a peek at the babies in their brooder. Chickens are much like middle school girls: nosy, bitchy, and mean... they would peck those babies to death, given half a chance.
For the longest while, the older girls picked on the "runt" of the litter when they first reached maturity a couple years ago. The runt was the funniest chicken, the smallest (obviously), but odd, in her own way. If she truly *was* a middle school girlie, she would have been the one wearing the beret and all the black eyeliner, listening to bauhaus while writing deep and meaningful poetry.
Ms. Runtie never hung with the other chickens or bothered to lay too many eggs; she kindof hung off to the corners of the yard, chasing shadows in an odd, un-chickeney way. She seemed more of a pacifist than the other girls, and was the one the fox would have gotten fairly easily, if any were about.
When she *did* try to get in with the group, the other chickens would squak at her to get out of their way, and if she didn't move, they would attack her. Very middle school...
It was painful to watch, as it stirred memories of my own flock of adolescent chickies from my school days, who behaved very much like the girls who were giving Grace such trouble at the time.
Now, the chickens seem more mundane. I know the little yellow puffballs grow into nasty chickens, who I love but are naughty, and conjure up trouble every chance they get (they are notorious escape artists and love to torment the cat). And what am I going to do with the 6 old girls? Let them go? Chicken soup? Raccoon bait? Who knows... I really don't have the Farmer Girl thang down just yet.

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