Hen Chronicles: A predictable routine, day in and day out

I like having the responsibility.

Almost every day for the last 3 1/2 years, I’ve walked, trudged (or shoveled) my way back to the chicken coop at dawn to release our hens, feed and water them, clean the coop and tell them what pretty birds they are.

Rain or shine, hot or cold, in sickness and in health, I’ve fulfilled my responsibility to “the girls" since we started with three hens in April 2012, except on those rare occasions when Liz and I were out of town.

Much has changed during that time. One member of the original trio of hens died in December 2012. The two survivors were joined by two newcomers in 2013. That boosted our total to four hens, until a death in June 2014 left us, once again, with three feathered musketeers, which remains the case now. Through it all, I've made the start-of-the-day trek to the back end of our city lot, where the coop sits tucked near a post-and-rail fence.

I walk our two dogs first thing as well, but ushering in a new day for the hens feels different. For years, Liz took the dogs on their early-morning walks, but greeting the hens always has been my responsibility. It’s woven into the fabric of my day. And it makes me content. Sometimes, even joyful. It's pleasant, and pleasantly predictable. (At least when all of the hens are healthy, which is the case most of the time.)

When I return to the house after each such excursion, whether in the heat of July or as the snow flies in February, Liz always asks the same question, in the same way. "How are the girls?" I give her a brief report, usually of a positive nature, sometimes including a humorous anecdote about the chickens' antics. Thus fortified, we are prepared to tackle the day.