If you have spoken with me in the last few months you may notice I talk alot about chickens. I can't help it, I am fascinated by the broody bunch of cluckers.
This fascination turned to horror yesterday afternoon when I arrived home from a day full of errands. It was life as usual, screaming kids and baby. I was unloading groceries when Nettie informed me in a breathless shocked sort of way ...something about chickens, and poo and my room, I only half heard her but she did mention I would be very angry and that got me thinking I better see what the trouble was.
I went downstairs to our walk out basement area to find chicken @#%$ all over my game room and bedroom floor. Mason had left the door open when he gave them water before we left. The chickens decided that sitting on my porch (and I thought that was a generous offer) was not good enough and my biddy's let themselves in, all 16 of them and had the run of the house for several hours. I am sure they pecked and scratched the carpet and rested and pooped until we got home. I do recall seeing them running from that general direction out of the kitchen window and thought that was odd.
Needless to say I wasn't mad at the chickens, I was upset with Mason and Gary for not yet having a proper coop for them to hang out in because 16 chickens hanging out on your porch makes one feel slightly hill billy. Never mind how one feels when the chickens take up residence in your bedroom!
Thank God one of my friends owns a carpet cleaning business and he immediately directed me on how to handle the situation. Let the chicken crap dry and scoop it up with a spoon. So I slept in my room that night very aware of the drying poop surrounding me. I became one with the hens. At five o clock this morning I was on my hands and knees with a plastic spoon and a brown paper bag scooping mounds of chicken waste out of my carpet. It came up fairly easy and I am so glad I took his advice. Well all of it nearly came up, there was a hen with an apparent case of the runs and that poo wasn't going anywhere fast. While on my hands and knees scraping doo I picked up feathers, scooped a wayward beetle and killed a roach. Nothing like chicken poo and roaches to make one feel at home in the country. Actually I had never killed a roach before, in my previous life I had been too scared of them but there is something maddening about being up at five in the morning surrounded by chicken turd in your own bedroom that makes one snap and I pounded that stupid roach to death and I didn't even feel bad.
But what was really great was when I went back to bed and Judah came running into my room to say good morning, I scream don't step on the chicken diarrhea and before I could stop him he is up on my bed jumping towards me... too late.
Never mind, some of these chickens will be salad someday anyway, I don't blame them maybe they were protesting.
Nevermind some
