Everyone is healthy, knock on wood, and my little flock has grown to five. Goldie hasn’t laid an egg in two weeks–normal considering what she just recovered from–and I’m still having to toss Mabelene’s and Henrietta’s eggs since everyone was on antibiotics. (This is practically against my religion.) But only for four more days. . .
The little black ‘orps are joined at the hips–almost literally. Where one goes, the other follows, not even one step behind. What one says, the other echoes. When one is briefly out of sight of the other–and this only happens when evil Henrietta emerges like a black cloud in their sunshiney day, casting shadows of terror and blight in their world–the other chirps her panic until they are reunited and then they trot off, side by side, into their little rainbow pony world.
And even though their devotion to each other remains unchanged, their progress in the flock is changing almost daily. In a few short weeks, they have learned to go up into the coop at night on their own, they’ve discovered how freaking awesome watermelon and corn on the cob is, they’ve learned it is right to be terrified by anything flying overhead, they spend almost all day free-ranging with the big gals in the yard and in the cool dirt recesses of the crawl space beneath my kitchen, and most importantly, they’ve learned how to get out of Henrietta’s way. And so–deep, satisfying sigh–they can now be left with the big girls in the run when I take off to reclaim some semblance of a social life.
Life at the City Hen is good, and I cherish these uneventful times. And ooh!–just wait until these babies start laying eggs this fall!