I’ve been rousing the chickens at about 7:05 every morning for the last few weeks, to get them out into the pen for breakfast while I clean out the coop. I say rousing because “the girls” did not wake up until they heard me arrive on the scene.
That finally began to change today. Dawn is breaking a wee bit earlier, a fact that has not escaped the attention of our three hens, whose comings and goings are dictated by the rising and setting of the sun. So when I showed up at 7:05 this morning, as per usual, it was a bit brighter outside than it has been at that hour.
Snow, Nellie and Hope were up. And waiting.
Snow stood at the large window on the east side of the coop, from which she could track the sunrise. Before I opened the coop door, she and Nellie began squawking angrily, protesting what they viewed as my tardy behavior. Even Hope, our little sleepyhead, hopped down from the roost and sauntered down the ramp on her own initiative, without need of the gentle wing taps I’ve been giving her every morning of late, to get her motor running.
We don’t know what Old Man Winter has in store for us in February and March, but whatever unpleasantness he may toss our way, we can take comfort in the fact that the darkness of the season is in retreat, ever so slowly. Now I’ll just have to adjust my chicken-keeping duties accordingly, to avoid more reprimands from our trio.
That finally began to change today. Dawn is breaking a wee bit earlier, a fact that has not escaped the attention of our three hens, whose comings and goings are dictated by the rising and setting of the sun. So when I showed up at 7:05 this morning, as per usual, it was a bit brighter outside than it has been at that hour.
Snow, Nellie and Hope were up. And waiting.
Snow stood at the large window on the east side of the coop, from which she could track the sunrise. Before I opened the coop door, she and Nellie began squawking angrily, protesting what they viewed as my tardy behavior. Even Hope, our little sleepyhead, hopped down from the roost and sauntered down the ramp on her own initiative, without need of the gentle wing taps I’ve been giving her every morning of late, to get her motor running.
We don’t know what Old Man Winter has in store for us in February and March, but whatever unpleasantness he may toss our way, we can take comfort in the fact that the darkness of the season is in retreat, ever so slowly. Now I’ll just have to adjust my chicken-keeping duties accordingly, to avoid more reprimands from our trio.
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