Since moving, we (read that as I watched and drilled a few holes) Mr. Right built a temporary chicken area. Their area is fenced with pvc pipe with net walls.
We didn’t think they could jump the permanent fence. We were wrong.
One day into our amazing visit with grand number 3, a chicken flew the coop. yes. Left. Gone. Left on vacation. Disappeared.
Being new to the neighborhood, we had to knock on doors and introduce ourselves and ask to go in their back yards. So now, we are guessing people are referring to us as the “chicken people”. We met neighbors near to us and behind us. We continued to look and and meet new people and search. As I hurried by one new neighbor, she yelled one final question, if I find your chicken, what’s her name? Made me smile. Even though they are avid hunters, she realized Ginger is yes a farm animal, however, somehow, my frantic behavior led her to believe, she was more of a pet.
All our neighbors were friendly and as helpful as could be. Not exactly how I would have liked to meet everyone and yet somehow, silly and frantic and broke the ice easily.
In case you have forgotten, people are nice. People want to help. Yes, there is good out there, folks.
I had to let it go. Family was here, plans were to leave for an adventure. I could not cry and make a huge scene. sigh. I was more than upset, yet, I did not want to smudge my visit with family. Good Luck Ginger, hope you decide to come home.
As we began grilling supper that evening, our daughter in law, said, “isn’t that your chicken behind the fence trying to get back in”?
As we tossed the tongs to them and screamed you are in charge of dinner…. we ran through the neighborhood, around the fence and captured our chicken. Geesh, that was an ordeal.
The daughter in law got to eat off the special day plate! We were back in the egg laying business.
Now, you must understand Grand #3 is only 1.5 years old. So I was willing to “plant” a white grocery store egg for him to “find”.
I didn’t have to. He walked into the coop like he knew what he was doing. He brushed his hand in the air saying “shoe, shoe” as he went. He was rewarded for his bravery with fresh eggs to gather.
Only two eggs were dropped the entire week. Somehow without anyone saying it, he acted like the eggs were special. He was very careful. Instead of the death grip of most 1.5 year old boys, he held it gently with care.
His Dad said, “I remember collecting eggs at Aunt Janice’s & Uncle Richard’s farm”.
Since then three people have told me, they have fond memories of collecting eggs at their grandma’s when they were young.
I wonder if I will be one of those grandma’s?
I have the best egg collectors in the land.
……when we visited my grandma, she let us collect fresh eggs……
one can only hope