If we were not talking about chickens, I'd probably have child protective services at my front door. Fortunately, we are talking about the cluckies.
I didn't get a chance to tidy up their run over the weekend so that was my chore for Monday night. Which also includes turning the compost bin. This means taking off the top stack, setting it next to the original stack and transferring the contents from one side to the other. And in the process, mixing in pine shavings and dropping from their house, kitchen scraps and other yard clippings.
|This is an old photo of the girls working the area where I just moved the compost bin from.|
After trying to shoo them so I could keep transferring over the contents, I finally gave up and just let them have at it. And have at it they did. They worked that thing till the sun went down. I went out later to finish up and they were waddling towards their house with awkward lump in their chest. That would be their crop full of all their tasty treats.
I scooped up Ginger and worked my fingers under all her feathers down to her crop. It felt like she had swallowed an apple whole. It made me wonder if chickens dream at night. If they do, my girls had some sweet dreams last night.