1. "New?" There isn't an old chicken run. There is a chicken coop. Well, there is a garden bed with a table over it. Actually, first it was a table, then it was a chicken coop, then it was a penthouse rabbit hutch, and now it is a chicken coop. But we have never had a chicken run.
2. "Geoff and I?" Okay. I was eating popcorn, and Geoff was staking out the perimeter of the new chicken run.
While everyone was enjoying the afternoon, the goats were crying for attention, so I brought them a basketful of Timothy hay. I know better than to leave them alone with smaller containers, containers with handles, knives, explosives, choking hazards, my credit card, but the greedy grabbers took their food, basket and all, so I let them have it.
It was about this time that I heard a familiar cry. It was not Ada, who is usually the vocal goat. It was Tasha, and I knew if Tasha had something to say, it meant something was up... like a fluffy bunny was in their yard, or she was into something. Tasha is well known for two things: 1. getting into things 2. getting out of things. But she can never seem to get out of the things she gets into, without a little help.