The Chicken Rodeo

The chickens got out about 15 minutes ago, as they do every few days. When one has livestock AND a garden, this is an urgent situation. Last fall they skeletonized two rows of chard the week that they were ready for the market. So, I dashed out the door and met my son, sticks in hand. (The sticks are for looking larger, and occasional pokes. We do not hit the chickens with them.) After I blocked the hole in the fence, I rounded up the birds. He opened and closed the gate on the pen. This was a 10 minute operation involving me running hither and yon, dodging and weaving. It generally involves frustration and irritation because chickens are small, fast, and kind of dumb.

When we were done, he looked at me, grinned, and said, “Hey! That was kind of fun! It’s sort of like a sport.”

And do you know? He was right.

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5 thoughts on “The Chicken Rodeo

  1. Ha! My husband totally wants chickens. We live in the burbs. But a recent bylaw is allowing 25 lucky suburbians to apply for having chickens in the city licences. He wants to be one of those people. But I am terrified of chickens. I do not understand why other people are not afraid of chickens.

    • Hmmm… I love my chickens. They are funny, and soft. And the ones that we raised by hand are quite easy to handle. But my housemate is afraid of them also. Something to do with the flapping. And I will acknowledge that I have been pecked when collecting eggs. It’s not as bad as a cat scratch or a dog nip, though.

  2. I am totally not a fan of the flapping, but have on occasion taken part in the chicken herding. Most memorable occasion being when I herded them with your Dad and little M. Nothing like a grown woman in fuzzy Betty Boop pajamas running around the yard chasing chickens, and being bested by a three year old.

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