Dont count chickens before hatch.
homesteading·@iamkunaning·
0.000 HBDDont count chickens before hatch.
 Hello there steemers. Don't count your chickens before they're hatched is an old phrase we've all heard. It takes on a new meaning when you keep chickens. I have 9 hens and one rooster, so it's a small flock that I spoil and fuss over every day. My husband wanted to put the coop away from the cabin's back deck, but I was having none of that. I need them close and as it turned out, there's a window we picked up for free that he placed so I could see their roost from the table. On Monday night I went to tuck them in, have a little talk about how lucky they've got it and how I think Ruby and Doris are far old enough to lay an egg like the rest of them. They get petted whether they like it or not (this keeps them used to me messing around their heads so it's easier at medicine times, and should one peck at me, I pop at them with a finger and give a NO!, then pet the offender further...it works). I counted and only came up with 9. I counted again, then color listed: 2 black, 2 red, 2 jubilee, but only 3 white! One of my 2 beloved leghorns (both named Blanche cuz they're so identical) was gone. The search was on, and my husband came out to help. Not in the garage, not under the front porch, not in the wood shed. No feathers, no signs of a struggle, no blood. It too deep of snow anywhere else, and they have been only where it's shoveled or plowed close to the house. Both of us had seen an immature eagle in the area over the weekend, so I resigned myself that he swooped in and grabbed her quick, giving Wesley no chance to defend his gal. She certainly weighs less than those big lake trout we've all seen them snatch out of the water watching National Geographic. The next morning, on one of my trips out the back door to the coop, I heard some familiar "egg talk" coming from below (walk out basement apartment under my back deck). I raced through the cabin, out the front, over to the steps down to the apartment, and over to the storage closet. Flung open the cracked door and there was my Blanche, struggling to get out from behind a plastic storage tub. I scooped her up, covered her with kisses, scolded her for going off by herself and snooping around in places she doesn't belong. Then came the tears I didn't cry when she went missing. I have turned into a crazy old chicken lady, haven't I? Damn chickens, anyway. iamkunaning <a href="https://steemit.com/@iamkunaning"> </a>