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Sunday Afternoon

23 August 2009

A lovely day. While on the phone with my mother this morning, I see a bright yellow goldfinch harvesting seeds from our volunteer sunflowers. I made supper last night, so somebody else is taking care of it today — that means the entire afternoon is mine to do with as I please. (Except for three loads of laundry, with the rhythm of changing loads and sorting down to a science.)

I’ve let the chickens, who have become prone to wandering a bit too far (and thus are no longer allowed to free-range 24/7), out of their run, so they can wander the garden and graze. They meander towards me, hoping for a snack (humans are the providers of snacks, in their world). I chat with them, they cluck back, moving to the mint patch.

As they scratch near the compost, I go inside to change laundry loads. When I return outside, they are nowhere to be seen. The plants in the garden patch aren’t shaking, so I know they aren’t tugging on the tomatoes. A quick glance at the back garden confirms they aren’t by the blackberry brambles. I hear the crunching of dead leaves, and know, then, that they have escaped again to the alley.

Armed with my trusty bamboo stick, I stomp out there to shoo them back into the yard. One of them thinks she can hide from the stick in the daylily patch. I reach down and grab her; she flaps her wings frantically, so I toss her over the fence into the yard (hmm, she’s getting to be a pretty good flutter-er). The other one squeezes through the fence (darn it! I thought they were too fat for that) but then finds herself behind a makeshift chickenwire barrier I put up to keep them away from the corner where they were sneaking out last week (hmm, they must have found another way out this time, then). This one, too, I grab from her unexpected prison and let her flutter into the yard. Then I shoo them into the run, and lock the door.

Now they are resting in the dirt, looking at me, but not complaining to be let out, as they usually do. I think they realize they did wrong (damn straight, they did), and figure I won’t listen to them, anyhow.

Me, I go back to enjoying this peaceful Sunday afternoon.

4 Comments leave one →
  1. 24 August 2009 7:01 am

    Lovely! Well, once you got the rascal chickens sorted out. It was a peaceful (ha!) day around here too…

  2. 25 August 2009 1:57 pm

    Oh, they are SO grounded now, aren’t they?

  3. 26 August 2009 11:52 am

    Heh… A friend across the street has had chickens for several years now, and after observing them on visits with my mom, who likes to see what they’re up to, I’ve decided they don’t have much memory capacity.
    They do come running to see if we have treats, but our friend says that otherwise, they aren’t what you could call trainable. Great eggs, though!

    • Peaceable Imperatrix permalink*
      27 August 2009 7:27 am

      Their tiny brain only has room for one memory: where to get food!

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