Last night, while we were away having dinner with friends and picking up the chickens, some weather came though here. Half of the roof to the pump house was blown about 20 feet away, so it must have been quite a little storm. This morning found the air heavy with moisture and the ground soaked and thankful. The sight of wet branches and grass made everything look still, but it was hardly quiet. I have yet to learn what birds give rise to the various calls I hear around here.

The chickens made it to their new home in relatively good condition. As I opened the coop this morning, a couple of them cautiously poked their heads out, but upon seeing me, refused to come out. I heard them talk it over a bit inside, apparently discussing my potential threat to their safety, so I stepped out of view and waited to see what would happen. A few seconds later, a third chicken boldly stepped outside, followed by the rest, jerking their heads around to take it all in.

I'm a little curious to see if any lay today, though I wouldn't be surprised if the trauma of last night keeps them from doing so.

On a side note, I've been wanting to name the place. Names like 'Green Acres' and 'Sunny Fields' plague my mind but are instantly dismissed. I asked Chris if he had any ideas. "Funny Farm," he answered instantly. Then we had a good laugh. I am open to any other suggestions.

I know my husband loves me because...

...he is out in the 90 degree heat working on the chicken tractor I started building yesterday.
He wasn't ready for chickens, he said. But he knew I wanted them.

Agonizing...

...over the design of a chicken coop/tractor.
Some one is giving me their 5 chickens (two of which are Polish mop-heads!) and I am trying to get it together and build something for them before I pick them up.
I am thinking too hard about it, but if I don't, I am afraid it will end up an unstable disaster.

His Face Says It All

The Duck

Not long after we moved here, we were visited by the neighbor's two male Rouen ducks. (From what I understand, Rouens are basically domesticated Mallards). Chris, of course, got some bread and fed them. Bread must be like crack for ducks, because after that, they followed Chris wherever he went, anticipating his every move, waiting outside doors, quacking their low little smoker-quacks whenever they saw him. I convinced Chris to stop feeding them bread, opting for a small handful of oats to keep them visiting, but not more than that so they would keep feeding on insects and whatnot.

It was fun to watch the ducks, always alert and cautious, yet hanging around on the outskirts, waiting for a 'fix'.

Sadly, we found when we returned from vacation that one of the neighbor's dogs had done away with one of the ducks. The kids gladly collected a handful of his feathers to play with. The remaining duck, apparently distraught and frightened from the loss of his only friend, has opted to stay where he feels the most safe: our place.
I catch myself calling him Ferdinand in my mind after the duck in the movie Babe. That poor Ferdinand was a harried and paranoid creature, anticipating that he was to be Christmas dinner. This duck is harried and paranoid as well. He doesn't look as groomed as he used to, but always a little ruffled and frazzled, like he didn't get a good nights rest. He hides out under our bushes and in our garage, following us around like a lost puppy.

Lately, though, he's been getting more brazen. Realizing that we are definitely not out to kill him, he has wandered closer to us when we are walking around. The kids used to be able to chase him away, but now he just runs around in a little circle, keeping just out of their reach. He has terrified Zivah, nipping at her shirt. She no longer wants to walk around outside on her own in fear of the duck, but is still happy to see him if she is in my arms. Today, he nipped at my toes when I was hanging out some laundry. He's getting too brazen. Hmm....

I wonder if he'd make a good 4th of July dinner.