They're at again. It bears repeating that our chickens delight me. I can be in the deepest funk, and visit my chickens for a thorough mood altering experience, and I will be transformed. I sit on a rock by their coop, or anywhere else in the yard and just watch them live their chicken lives. It is meditation. It is soul soothing. It is funny. They peck, peck, peck, and bok, bok, bok. They ruffle their feathers and roll in the dirt, and make a great fuss to bathe themselves in the dust. If I approach them with a piece of watermelon or grainy bread, they will follow me anxiously. How can I describe a chicken's walk? It is more than a waddle. It is a balancing act in forward motion. The tiny chicken pelvis paddling frantically to propel two skinny chicken feet, while holding up a mass of feathers and a bobbing, bouncing head. They are a comedy troupe, unaware.
Our front door has sidelights, two narrow windows on either side of the door, that run from floor to ceiling. When they wait on the "WELCOME" mat we can see them through these two windows. You'd think they could read. They are patiently waiting for their welcome. They stand on the mat and look up at the door.
"They're home all right. I heard them.
Just wait, one of them will come out and then they'll see we've been waiting.
Try knocking again."
God, I amuse myself. The boys are amused too. They laugh heartily at the latest chicken antics and we love to speculate: "What are they thinking in those chicken minds?"