The chickens have apparently decided that if someone approaches their yard, it means there’s food on the way. They came to this conclusion because every time Fred goes near their yard, he has a handful of worms or a cut-up tomato or some lettuce or bread for them. Yesterday, I had to walk by their area to get to the burn pile, and when I walked by, one of the black chickens with speckles saw me go by, and she started running alongside me, clucking excitedly. By the time I’d dumped the wood on the burn pile and began walking back toward the garage, at least half of the chickens were running along the fence, clucking at me. I didn’t give them any food (only because I didn’t have any with me), and eventually they went back to scratching at the ground and eating bugs and running around flapping their wings.

I think when I die, I’d like to come back as one of our pets. They definitely live the life o’ Reilly.

Chicks on a rainy day.

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Tommy, keeping an eye on the squirrels.


2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.

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