We all have our evening routines. This time of year for us, it goes something like this.
I head to the greenhouse to visit my plants. I’m battling powdery mildew on my spaghetti squash, something is eating my Swiss chard, and my peppers are looking a bit stunted. Everything else seems to be happy.
The Bantys are early to bed, so we close their door for the night and we’re done there. Paul coaxes the ducks out of the pond with the big blue bucket of pellets, waters them and feeds them.
It’s when it comes to the Girls, that’s when the evening gets “fun”. Inevitably, a couple of the Girls head home on their own. We tag-team one or two more, herding them down to the coop where they reluctantly hop in.
Then there’s Little.
Little is four years-old, the only remaining chicken from our very first hand raised flock. I think she loves Paul. Every night, without fail, she waits patiently for Paul to come collect her and carry her home. She never runs away or plays hard to get. She simply seems to relish a little quality time with him and insists on being carried home. Truth be told, Paul gets a kick out of the routine.
That is until he opens the coop door to set Little in and out pops a chicken and round two of tag-team herding begins.