The Weekend of the Disappearing Chicken

Since moving in here our weekends have become busier than ever. We’ve also never had so much fun working around the house. Saturday was a pretty typical day. We went into town, did some running around.

My husband got his pumpkin spice latte (last one of the year, he means it this time).

I got started on my coffee bar. Found the cutest wood and metal coffee sign at Homesense. I’ll post all about that once it’s complete.

When we got home we let the chickens out for a few hours to do some free ranging. Raked the leaves into a giant pile and let the kids and dog go wild.

leaves

Oh and a day later, there’s no sign there was any raking done at all. At least twice as many leaves have fallen. I do love the trees, I do, I really do….most of the time I do.

So anyway, the sun started going down and we headed out to let the chickens back in and do a head count. Which is the most impossible and frustrating thing in the world by the way. I did a quick count.

28…hope not.

33, counting one too many is better than being 4 short right?

31.

31 again (call hubby).

Nope, we’re short one chicken.

So we looked around, shook some trees, made some weird chicken noises (no way this chicken is buying it). Even Elvis the farm dog was having no luck chasing the last one home that night. We hoped she was safe in a tree and called it a night.

Sunday morning. It was chilly and crispy, and the perfect temperature to grab my tea, a sweater and look for a chicken. Still nothing though, and I was starting to lose hope.

Until about 6pm that is, when we pull into the driveway and hubby sees her. THE CHICKEN!!! She was way out on the other side of the property, about to duck back into the bush when we spotted her. Things got a little crazy when everyone hopped out of the truck and ran across the yard. Now imagine a grown man and his two little daughters running up and down the property line trying to catch a chicken that DOES NOT want to be caught. The kids are yelling, the chicken is running and clucking with anger. She managed to escape them again, and silently hide in a bush. Suddenly there’s a scuffle, and my oldest daughter emerges from the trees, one angry chicken in her arms.

I have so many questions. Where were you chicken? What did you see in 24 free hours? Where did you sleep? Did you lay an egg under the neighbors deck? How did you not get eaten by a hungry fox? So many things I’ll never know.

Back in the coop tonight, the chickens are all huddled around the escapee, hearing about her wild night out on the town. “Life on the outside is amazing you guys.”

 

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