Chickens are highly exciteable birds. As I stepped into the midst of the escaped flock at FortWhyte Farms, I think I must have spooked them - the chickens scattered in front of me.
I walked over to the chicken tractors, the mobile pens designed to keep the chickens safe and contained, but with room to move, scratch the ground, and peck - in essence, the devices making "pastured poultry" a reality. Two were completely bereft of chickens; bird-size holes had been made in the wire on the front of the tractors. In addition to two empty small tractors, several laying hens were moving in and out of their tractor, about ten yards south of where the meat chickens were pastured. The hole on the laying hens tractor was larger then in the other tractors. This hole would be my first priority - the laying hen's tractor housed more chickens than the smaller tractors.
I walked over to the laying hen tractor. I got down on one knee, and began twisting bits of chicken wire together, attempting to repair the breached tractor, or at least make the hole smaller than a chicken.
Eyes forward, intent on my task, I ignored the unhappy clucks around me.
I felt I was making progress. It was not a perfect repair, but it was working. Small successes fed my eagerness to get the job done.
I was so eager, I did not notice the large rooster, who had been guarding the hens, had disappeared from my field of vision.
In fact, I wouldn't notice him again until he jumped on the back of legs. Clearly, he was not happy with my work, and chose to express this with his talons and beak.
Not being a chicken, I was able to express my thoughts and feelings using words. Not necessarily printable, repeatable words, mind you - but, in all fairness, I did have an angry animal attacking my leg.
I jumped sideways. The rooster jumped back. We stared at each other. He broke off the stare, and but watched me closely.
My loud shouts had scared most of the white meat chickens back inside their tractors - an unintended, temporary benefit, but appreciated, because the commotion had actually scared two laying hens so much they'd hopped the electric safety fence, and were running towards a nearby treeline.
The very same treeline where I'd last seen the weasel.
Weasel+Chickens+dense vegetation=trouble.
I jumped the fence and ran toward the trees, determined to be the variable that would make this equation turn out more positively for the escaped hens.
Do the tractors get repaired? Is the weasel faster than Barret or the chickens? Tune in tomorrow for the third installment of Feathered Follies!
