Three of the chickens were out when the kids and I got home this afternoon, which means it's time for another wing trim. (BTW, no more cock-a-doodle-doos heard.) We trim our chickens' wings so they don't fly out of their little enclosed yard behind the shed, because otherwise they invariably ruin the garden with their raking feet.
Colin really loves the chickens, and volunteered to help me catch them because he's "the best chicken catcher." He also claims they understand him. Colin also feeds the chickens for me everyday. It's the one chore he doesn't complain about (now that we moved the feed onto the porch and out of the shed where we rarely find snakes. Colin is afraid of snakes.)
He is really fast at catching those chickens, who very much do not want to be caught. He holds them lovingly like a baby as we take them to the picnic table, then holds their body while I extend a wing and trim the long feathers. He has a name for each of them (Goldy, Big Blacky, Copper, Reddy). He looks like such a farm boy with his flock.
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2 comments:
Awh, love him. He and Paige are birds of a feather. The chicken whisperers.
Ooh, does it hurt when you clip their feathers?
(only when you get your thumb caught between the scissors handles)
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