Chickens.
We've got em.
We decided to take home Lucy's baby chicks from her preschool class in June.
They were free and I love a good deal.
These little peeping fluff balls were so darn cute, we just couldn't help picking them up, playing with them . . . yes, one or two have even been kissed . . .repeatedly . . . on the top of the head.
They soon outgrew their box, so we put them into Charlie's dog crate in the kitchen and went to Wisconsin for 2 weeks.
Our extreme trooper house sitter Erica sent us updates on how they changed while we were gone.
The mess was starting to be more than we bargained for,
so these little pollitos were adios-ed to the garage.
We ordered a coop for them and waited until they were old enough to, like, live in it.
Simon did an amazing job building it.
And note the little pant-less farmer.
They are still "free ranging." To the uneducated (us) that means that they casually stroll around your yard during the day, occasionally eating a fly or other annoying insect.
They might fluff their feathers, or roost on tree branch.
Now that we've woken up from that little delusion, we now know that chickens are little rascals. Pooping, scratching, destroying. pooping, pecking, escaping, and then pooping . . .
. . .on your patio furniture. Repeatedly.
We even find them breaking and entering. This time, Lucy discovered them in the bedroom.
Lovely!
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