The reference books tell us that one of the reasons chickens are susceptible to predators is because they sleep so soundly that they remain oblivious to an attack until it’s too late. That’s why it’s important to keep them in a secure coop at night, to prevent foxes, raccoons and other hungry critters from having a quick midnight snack.
Don’t worry. I’m not about to reveal that our three hens fell victim to marauders Saturday night. They were safe and sound in their coop as the snow piled up outside. No, the reason I mention the sleeping habits of chickens is to reinforce the point, from personal observation, that they do sleep like, well, the dead.
When I ventured into the not-so-great outdoors at 5 a.m. Sunday, I shoveled the sidewalk and the driveway and assorted walkways, including the all-important path leading to the back of our yard, where the coop and pen are located.
It was 6 a.m. by the time I reached the coop, but dawn was still an hour away, so I knew “the girls” would be asleep. I figured I’d clear off the snow early so that, come 7 o’clock, I could quickly release our hens and avoid any impatient squawking.
I began by shoveling out around the north end of the coop, followed by the east side of the coop and pen.
Not a peep from the inhabitants.
Rounding a corner, I removed the snow from the south side of the pen.
Silence inside the coop.
I then went around to the west side and cleaned things up there.
Stillness reigned supreme.
Finally, I shoveled snow off the top of the pen, and from the roof of the coop itself. In the process, I sent a long, thick stick clattering against the small coop’s closed door.
But from within, nary a cluck. Only tranquility and stillness.
It wasn’t until I showed up again an hour later to “serve breakfast” that the girls finally roused themselves. Not surprisingly, they appeared to be well-rested.
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