Sunday, May 30, 2010

Chick run

Here's photos of the chick's recent gala day, in which they were transferred from their brooder, which they had outgrown, to Aimee's five star chicken tractor.

This is the first time I've shown pictures of this device, which was made with the greatest of care.

No chick of ours is going to live in no stinking substandard chicken tractor.

Aimee has one in her hand, I'm following dutifully with the other six in a box. I think I do dutiful well, when it comes to wifely orders, don't you?

The peeps don't like being in a box and are complaining lustily, appealing to their chicken rights, but who am I to complain at the method. Just following orders, is my excuse.

This transfer process, which we'll call the "peep walk," was accomplished with a lot of peeping and flustered feathers, but by the time they'd been in their new home for a day or so, they'd settled down and were going up and down the ramp from their sleeping quarters to the grass as if born to it.

Haggis the miserable sheepdog, whose attention span for herding sheep is about two seconds, was all ears and tail for this poultrified process.

How annoying is that? When I need him to help me move sheep, he's barely on the job before he starts chewing on some sheep poop, or sniffing at some interesting smell.

The problem with Haggis is that as a young pup he had only chickens to herd, and so he's imprinted on them, not sheep.

Haggis, of course, is perfectly happy with this arrangement, and has no understanding at all of how shameful it is for a pedigree Australian Shepherd to be imprinted on chickens when he has a whole herd of sheep to look after.

They're even part Corriedale. Antipodean sheep, if you will. Like the dog breed.

Me, I'm disgusted. Not the least because as a result I have to behave like a sheepdog whenever I want to move sheep. While my otherwise perfectly operable sheepdog is sniffing the posies.

I'm a Yorkshireman, for heaven's sake. I'm supposed to be the sheepdog handler, controlling huge herds perfectly with a simple whistle and my trusty dog.

How humiliating is that? How am I ever going to be realized as a person?

I least I have the grace to be ashamed about it.


  1. Too funny! I can just see Aimee giving you a treat after a job well done, herding those sheep in for the night.

  2. A dog treat, you mean, dear. Careful now!


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