When Liz and I and our two dogs headed to the Maine coast for a week-long vacation last Saturday, we willingly left the care of our three hens (and cats and tropical fish) to Seth, a local man who has looked after the chickens before. He is responsible, and although he seems to be more fond of cats than hens (?), we knew furry, feathered and finned critters alike were in good hands. So I didn't spend much time worrying about Snow, Nellie and Hope during the course of our stay in the tiny seaside town of Searsport, although I did think about them from time to time.
After we returned home late yesterday morning, I gave the hens a snack, for the first time in a week. Last night, I got back into the habit of locking them in their coop. Then, as dawn broke this morning to reveal a cool and misty day, I gathered my supplies, headed out to the coop, and unlatched the door, releasing "the girls" into their pen. I stroked each hen on her back as she headed down the ramp, and wished each of them a good morning, by name.
It wasn't at all like the novelty of gazing out at the waters of Penobscot Bay from the tall windows of our Searsport rental's living room. But normalcy has its own rewards.
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