It started with a disaster. My clothes dryer ceased drying clothes. In a house with three kids and oodles of critters to clean up after (the kids still trump the critters on mess), a non-working dryer is cataclysmic, especially in winter.
So, bright and early I called the appliance repair man who gave me a three hour window. These repair people are worse than I am in nailing down an exactly arrival time.
I’m drinking coffee and sorting vegetable seeds for my garden while awaiting the repairman. My back door is open.
Another disaster strikes.
I spill my coffee!
From the back yard I hear a sudden “Bwack, bwack, bwack,” that I swear sounded like one of my chickens laughing at me.
“Keep laughing and you will be dinner.”
She shut up.
When the repairman arrived, he went in the backyard to check for airflow from the dryer vent. He left the gate open and when I came out a bit later to check on progress the chickens were all attempting an escape.
I herded them back into the backyard.
I think they took affront, because later on when I was getting ready to go, not a single chicken could be found. I looked EVERYWHERE. I called them. I looked EVERYWHERE again, and yet again. No chickens.
I drove off, circled both the front and rear blocks and then came back home. The devious chickens had hidden, quite well I might add, in the neighbor’s back yard.
Either they don’t take kindly to herding or understand English eerily well. In either case, I do believe they purposely hid from me.
Those chickens had better behave. After all, I’m the one who keeps Marble from plucking them naked.