Morning Musings aka Chasing Chickens

Usually after I get up in the morning and put Lily on the bus, I go back to bed for a little while, another half hour, at least. But, today I stayed up and greeted the morning full-throttle. I fried myself two eggs and two circles of turkey sausage, along with a cup of coffee, and poured myself a glass of orange juice. I read some of my current read, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, while I ate breakfast, wishing that the entire book was told from young Oskar’s perspective, because when told from either of his grandparent’s it is just too sad.

After I read the particularly moving scene where Oskar first meets Abe Black, and after I had wiped my tears, I figured it was time to feed the chickens and let them out into their runs. It was after 8 a.m., after all. We usually let them out earlier, but the dawn was still rather dim due to the fogginess in the air.

I put my black outdoor slippers on over my black polka-dotted gray socks and set out to open their cages. I checked on the young guinea hens, which are only weeks old, first. I let them out into their run, all were accounted for. We have lost nearly half of them since we got them back in July: 1 chick got a few strands of hair wrapped around its little days-old legs and didn’t make it after that, 2 found dead from unknown causes one morning, 2 found disemboweled by some unknown predator, 1 that just wasn’t doing well and suddenly died, and 1 that just disappeared one day- likely taken by a bird of prey. But, these surviving nine are doing just fine.

Guinea chicks then...

 Guinea chicks now...

Then I let our two “big girls”, Betty and Lord, out, our little red hens. (Side note: in case you’re wondering where the name “Lord” comes from, Lily named her. And, no, not after Lord Jesus or Lord Vishnu or any royalty or the singer, but after Lord Darth Vader). They were nipping at their cage door when I got there, their beady eyes watching me expectantly. They rushed straight to their layer feed dish as soon as they were freed, pecking away at the plastic red container, as if they hadn’t been fed in days.

Betty is our special girl, our first hen who has been with us for over a year and bustling with 
more personality than I ever thought possible from a common chicken.

Lord brooding over an egg, no doubt.

"Have you got any special treats for me?" (this girl moves so quickly, 
it's difficult to get a good portrait of her with a simple cell camera)

The guineas’ food dish was empty when I got to their coop, so I went back to the garage to refill it. They eat layer feed now, too, but crumbled up instead of in pellets like the big girls do. As I entered the garage, I heard the familiar sound of crickets in the corner, chirping away, as if practicing for a symphony they haven’t quite gotten right yet. I know they’re only practicing, because it doesn’t sound like they’re quite in sync with each other, but maybe that’s just how they’re supposed to sound in the morning, a bit muddled together like most people feel when they first get up. Typically, I pay more attention to them at night, and they sound more in sync then. When I was a little girl coming into this same garage, I’d always try to find those musical crickets, but never could, even though I knew where they were by sound alone. How did they do that? Hide like that? I decided to try and search them out again this morning, their tiny violin legs growing quieter with each step I took towards their hiding place. Once again, no luck in finding them, and I wasn’t about to start turning things over just to catch them now.

Just something cute

Not a cricket...

I collected the guineas’ food, which wasn’t much, noting that more pellets would have to be ground up today for later. But, this small handful would be enough for breakfast. I left the empty bucket on Paul’s desk for him to find.

Walking back to where their run was, I thought about Lily, who was at school in her homeroom class. I thought about what I gave her for lunch (leftover penne with meat sauce and cheese, applesauce, yogurt, carrot sticks, and chocolate biscuits), and how she was getting so big, and how the bus had come a little early today, so I didn’t have time to wash her face off after she ate breakfast. However, my little girl did make time to reach up on her tippy-toes with her rosebud mouth puckered-up and plant a quick kiss on my lips before dashing off to the bus. I told her I loved her as she did so, then stood on the front porch as she ran up the driveway, arms crossed over my chest, watching as the bus then pulled away and stopped at the next corner, while I turned to go back inside.

When I got to the guineas’ pen, five of them had escaped the fenced-in run. I hadn’t noticed that a small opening in their fence had been left untended to, and by untended to, I mean Paul did not close it back up before putting them back into their coop last night, just as he had left Betty and Lord’s food out overnight, which he told me he wasn’t going to do anymore because some nocturnal critter like a possum or raccoon might get to it. I let out a sigh, and started to follow them.

I would now have to herd them back into the run, which was no easy task. They were too quick now to catch, and they hated to be caught or touched in any way. I had to wait until they were all grouped together and not paying attention to me, then sneak up on the side of them and slowly, patiently, follow them until they were near the run again, and then- hopefully! –manage to herd them back into that opening in the fence. I started to get them together, but then turned and saw that the other four had now gotten out, too. Sigh. This is why I usually just go back to bed; it’s too early to deal with this crap.

This time, out of impatience and simple foolishness, I tried to corner them and grab at them, thinking maybe I could catch them now that they were a little larger. But, alas. That only made them scatter, and now I had to herd them again. I took a breath, and began to walk slower behind them, gradually gathering them into a single group and getting closer and closer to the pen step by step. We got to one side of the run, and I lifted up the fence so the opening was bigger for them to squeeze through. Once I did that then herded them back to that spot, they all ran in. And once they saw that I had refilled their food, they surrounded their dish happily, because that was why they really escaped their run in the first place- they were looking for breakfast.

Next time I’ll remember to keep the coop closed until I get the damn food first.

And there she is, Lovely aka Queen of Sheba, Master of Adorable,
leaving all those who cross her path unable to resist petting her soft, velvety fur.

I went back in-but, not before stopping to pet the cat on the back deck -noting that the toes of my socks were now wet from the dewy grass, and went right to my iMac, wanting just to express these things, because my mornings used to be so very different. They were always rushed and groggy and annoying and disappointing. Disappointing because I was no longer asleep in dream land, away from the harsh reality of the 9-5 lifestyle, and having to get Paul to the bus and Lily to school on time, and then take care of the animals and then lock up the house after getting myself together, and hopefully be able to stop at Dunkin’ Donuts and make it to work on time. One day, it may be like that again, but right now it’s not. And I intend to savor every second of it, and be at peace in my no longer constant worry, stressing about all the things I had to do- Did Lily do her homework? What can I give her for lunch today? Is it acceptable to just give her cold cuts? Did I call so-and-so about such-and-such? I better confirm my 1 p.m., and make sure I have all the paperwork ready. Is Paul cranky because of something I did, or is he just in one of his moods? Dammit, I need to get my nails done.

Looking back, none of those things mattered, but they were all perpetually on my whirly-gig mind as if they did not so long ago, and I still have days when I start thinking too much and get overwhelmed. But, it’s easier to calm myself down now, and just breathe, or stretch, or refocus with a task I can actually enjoy.

Missing her every moment she's not with me

It’s just so nice. And I’m just so happy, 
to be up early feeding chickens in my backyard.