What a difference a few weeks make.
Back in July, our three hens went nuts if I failed to release them from the coop into the pen by 5 a.m. or so, when daylight broke. They would hop and bounce and squawk and peck at the coop's east-side window, seemingly convinced that if they didn't get out immediately, the unfairness of it all would cause them to burst in frustration.
This morning, when I made my way out to the coop at 6:10, there was no sign of life visible (or audible) from the outside. No hens peering out of the window. No chicken chatter inside the coop. No sound of impatient hens stomping about. All was quiet until I placed the feed and water bowls in the pen.
That roused "the girls," two of whom quickly jumped down from the roost to the coop floor with a distinctive thud. When I unlatched the door, Snow and Nellie ran down the ramp. Hope, the resident sleepyhead, remained on the roost for another minute or so before she too appeared at the open door and joined the other hens for breakfast.
For the most part, it still feels like summer at this time of year, but the days grow shorter, and the chickens snooze longer, as the seasons prepare to turn yet again.
