It rained a cold, wind-driven rain yesterday, and I couldn’t help feeling a sympathetic chill for those poor chickens. I fully understand that the poor things are barnyard beasts and that they, like the sheep, prefer grass between their toes and a clear sky overhead. But as I sat there in my wool socks and under my drywalled ceiling, ostensibly working, I still felt a twinge of something.
I think what it is is that my birds are still fairly young. They were hatched out at the end of March. So this is their first winter, and even though they’ve already experienced a snowcover, they’ve, like me, been lulled back to comfort by a long series of warm days. Now? The poor things just look confused, huddling in their deck condo. If I could only explain to them that the worst is yet to come and buck up, your grass is still green…well, at least that’d make ME feel better.