lazaefair replied to your post “Today’s
Mar. 27th, 2018 04:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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lazaefair replied to your post “Today’s excitement is that in the pig pasture the deep mud sucked my…”
This was fascinating and enlightening. “It turns out you can punch a chicken without affecting it much” permission to write this as your epitaph?
Right?? I’m not sure I want to be remembered forever by this but I mean.
My sister kicks them. I’m still stupidly squeamish about it but she’s like, you have to get through the crowd. Better to kick them than step on them. Which is a fair point! Sometimes they don’t make any noise when you step on their feet and you don’t realize until you notice they’re trying to leave and can’t. (If the ground is soft enough, they don’t seem to get injured, but it’s still upsetting, at least to me.)
You do have to exercise caution. Years ago, with their first flock, her husband kicked their aggressive rooster, and it died instantly, and he was absolutely horrified. He must have just caught it wrong. The key is to kind of broadside them with your foot with the aim of shifting them, you know?
So I reflex-punched a hen, but like, not super hard, and like, in the wing, not the face.
randomartdudette replied to your post “Today’s excitement is that in the pig pasture the deep mud sucked my…”
In a nutshell: mud is annoying. Chickens are glorious yet evil.
These are basically the fundamental truths of egg-farming in the spring.
I just got a phone call from my sister, who is out in the pullet pasture. I can see her from the window. I looked, and she was standing outside the fence, one hand by her face holding the phone and the other flung kind of wide. “Can you help me chase some chickens?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
She’d been mucking out the one egg house, and had disconnected the roosts and tossed them gently out the door, which had panicked the hens and about a hundred of them had run straight over the fence.
By the time I got there, though, most of them had gone back in. So I petted them and fed Snow a bit of my apple, then made the rest of the hens fight over the apple core.
(Your picture was not posted)
lazaefair replied to your post “Today’s excitement is that in the pig pasture the deep mud sucked my…”
This was fascinating and enlightening. “It turns out you can punch a chicken without affecting it much” permission to write this as your epitaph?
Right?? I’m not sure I want to be remembered forever by this but I mean.
My sister kicks them. I’m still stupidly squeamish about it but she’s like, you have to get through the crowd. Better to kick them than step on them. Which is a fair point! Sometimes they don’t make any noise when you step on their feet and you don’t realize until you notice they’re trying to leave and can’t. (If the ground is soft enough, they don’t seem to get injured, but it’s still upsetting, at least to me.)
You do have to exercise caution. Years ago, with their first flock, her husband kicked their aggressive rooster, and it died instantly, and he was absolutely horrified. He must have just caught it wrong. The key is to kind of broadside them with your foot with the aim of shifting them, you know?
So I reflex-punched a hen, but like, not super hard, and like, in the wing, not the face.
randomartdudette replied to your post “Today’s excitement is that in the pig pasture the deep mud sucked my…”
In a nutshell: mud is annoying. Chickens are glorious yet evil.
These are basically the fundamental truths of egg-farming in the spring.
I just got a phone call from my sister, who is out in the pullet pasture. I can see her from the window. I looked, and she was standing outside the fence, one hand by her face holding the phone and the other flung kind of wide. “Can you help me chase some chickens?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
She’d been mucking out the one egg house, and had disconnected the roosts and tossed them gently out the door, which had panicked the hens and about a hundred of them had run straight over the fence.
By the time I got there, though, most of them had gone back in. So I petted them and fed Snow a bit of my apple, then made the rest of the hens fight over the apple core.
(Your picture was not posted)
