Well, things seem to be back to normal. So far, nobody reports seeing the damn dog out again, so I have hopes that the trouble is resolved.
The week has been as relaxed as it can be with a critical mass of sass running around.
Baby girl, whose name is actually Cricket, though I don't expect anyone to remember that; it's why I rarely use their names, has been in a royal snit the last few days because insomnia has had my sleep schedule alllll messed up. So me and her having cuddle time has been reduced.
This has led to her climbing my teenager and screaming in their face when I am not in my appointed location on time. It's like a heavily feathered Queen Kong mounting the grumpy empire state building. Grumpy, because have you ever had an indignant marans hen screaming in your face? BRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWK!
That, coupled with the occasional peck and glare has made the kid a wee bit surly come evening, which has me in stitches since when I tell the kid they don't have to let the bird climb them, the kid just says "but she's so cute when she does it."
And that is absolutely true. Our couch is cushy, so even when a seat isn't reclined, you lean back slightly. Cricket will hop on the kid's lap, then climb up their body to their shoulder or chest, flapping to keep balance. Which means you do absolutely nothing but watch the show if you're in the room, or have a wife that films it for you.
Cricket picks her place, then streeeetches her neck out until she's looking the kid right in the eye and squawks the first time, usually gently. It escalates from there into a proper scolding, and then to raining hellfire upon the edifice of teendom.
There are zero clucks given.
The only options are to immediately retrieve me, or suffer the wrath of hen. Since I sleep like a dead brick unless you touch me, and I don't wake exactly friendly that way, you see the dilemma.
Why has the kid been chosen as my waker-upper? Because chicken. Cricket has decided that my kid is not only another hen, but is lower in the pecking order. As the "but she's so cute" policy is in place, the kid doesn't do what I do when the bird is being obstreperous, which is to unceremoniously pick her up, tickle her wing pits, and place her on the floor. The removal will only temporarily stop her sass. But the wing pit tickle offends her noble being, and she will behave herself after a bit of a pout.
If you've never seen a chicken pout, it puts toddlers to shame; the accusing side-eyed stare of utter despondency would melt any heart. Except mine. Well, that's not true, it thaws. Partially. Okay, it melts, but I do not negotiate with pecking terrorists.
Anyway. Big guy has returned to his usual self. Yesterday, he decided that he was coming in the house. He communicated this by banging against my dad's window until he got tired of it and my wife went out to see what the kerfluffle was.
As soom as she opens the door, here comes the rooster. He lands at her feet, which he promptly humped. He then shoulders past her, right through the open doors, and comes looking for me.
He knows where the room is now, and heads straight there.
I'm stretched out, still recovering from a back injury. He stomps his way to the door and crows as loud as possible. I had heard his giant dinosaur feet clicking and stamping my way, but he does love a good entrance.
We chat for a bit. Which amounts to me complimenting his garb and telling him what a fine, brave rooster he is, with him gobbling and buk-buking in response. It's a thing we do; it makes us both happy.
Well, he gets done with the discussion and clomps his way over to the bed and begins his dance of majesty. This involves much stomping, turning in circles, and prancing back and forth. Basically: daaaaad, pay attention, I want something.
In this case, I know what he wants because he's a rooster and they only want one thing.
Biscuits.
Luckily, I still had a baggie with some in it, in my pants. So I broke him off a little and offered it to him. He gently took it from between my fingers, then bawk-awked and walked away to my wife. He gobbled at her, then skrawked and stomped his way back through the house, expecting her to follow him and see him out the door. We know this because every few feet, he would turn his head and bawk at her again, to make sure she was keeping up. When she paused, he gobbled and bawk-awked again until she started moving.
Lord Fauntleroy deigned to visit us. He came, made pleasantries, took the taxes and left in dignity.
But wait, there's more!
The littlest one, the volunteer hen latte.
She, once the other birds are settled in, has a few places she likes to sleep when it isn't raining. Two are in the back yard, the other (less used) one is in the shrubbery out front.
She is currently there, as a matter of fact, I can hear her trilling in her sleep (it's not yet dawn here) under my window.
But, yesterday, she was out there as well, and just having a day of it. Leaves were flying, gentle brrrrr-brk-brks were being made, and I'm fairly certain she threw a rock at the wall of the house, which is what made me get up and see what the hell was going on
Spring cleaning I guess, because her usual spot is all neat and orderly, and she was quite disturbed by my presence. She took off running like I was a dingo after her babies.
I go through the house to the back yard with some treats, where shes happily clucking and waiting for them.
So, in the front yard, I am terrifying. In the back, I'm just the monkey that brings yummy things, but is not allowed to touch her.
Little Latte rarely does much that's enough to tell about, as she's very shy. But she is a pretty bird indeed. Sweet in her own way. When one of us comes out, she'll creep around the corner of the house, or from behind the coop if she's decided to stay in the run for the day. Her little golden head pokes around until she can tell who it is, and if there are treats coming. If there aren't, she gies back to her spot and chirps and warbles a little. If there are, she chirps around, just out of reach, until the treats are given out.
She'll linger after treats, though. Scratching and looking for bugs, usually. It's almost like the giving of treats makes her feel safe enough to not just dash away immediately, because she won't scratch and roam around us if we just stand there without having given treats.
Anyway, this is already long as hell lol. So, thems the chickenings lately :)