I’m easily amused.

As long as we’re watching paint dry here anyway, might as well watch grass grow, or get eaten. The CE and I were out doing errands and stopped at the pet store on the way home for mealworms. At the cashier counter was one of those a-sucker-is-born-every-minute impulse buy racks with tiny containers of grass. Never mind that we have perfectly good grass and plenty of it growing in our yard; I just had to have the store-bought grass.(Hey, at least I didn’t fall for the carpet-covered scratching post in the window display..)

I decided that the grass purchase could help the girls acclimate to yesterday’s impulse buy. I got a small doghouse at the feed store, thinking it would give one or more of the girls a cozy little napping place in the pen now that they’re spending most of their days out there. No, I did not furnish it with Frette linens, you smart-alecs! Just set it out there, thinking it would be fun for siestas, not to mention roosting opportunities. Well, of course, my little birdbrains haven’t gone anywhere near it. If it’s new/different, it’s the devil. They aren’t all that different from humans, now that I think of it.

So I set the container of grass inside the entrance of the doghouse, and pandemonium ensued. Not ONLY is there a foreign object in the run, there’s a foreign object in the foreign object! And yet, look at those fragrant little green spears being tickled by the breeze and oh, they are just, almost within reach. And if we creep stealthily up – well everyone but Amelia Thunderboots, that is, who can do nothing stealthily – we might just catch a tendril in our beaks. Oh! Oh my! It’s heavenly! Divine!

Another few minutes passes with the chickens chasing one another to steal blades of grass from one another’s beaks. Eventually things settled down enough that I was able to reinforce training with Autumn and Hope, who are willing to come up the ladder to eat out of my hand. Lily and Amelia are still disinclined to cooperate – the Chicken Emperor suspects they’ve been attending seminars put on by the cats who have taught them to always do the opposite of what a human wants.

I think it's a UFO

I think it's a UFO

The crowd gathers

The crowd gathers

Me first! No, me!

Me first! No, me!

About polloplayer

Empty nester searching for meaning of life through the occasional chicken epiphany.
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