Chickens are Friends, NOT Food

We had nowhere to be last weekend, so David and I decided that we would try and get as much done to our garden as possible.  Our goal was to finish getting the land cleared and tilled.  Our garden is pretty gigantic, so this would be no small feat.  To begin, David and the kids (or, more accurately David and “sometimes” the girls) hauled every bit of rabbit poop they could find to dump into the garden site while I ran the Rototiller.

Yes!  I, Taylor Maliblahblah, ran a piece of farm machinery.  Be impressed.

As I trudged wearily through piles and piles of rabbit poo-poo, I had to wonder what had become of my life.  But sometimes it is best if we not dwell on such things.

We ended up working ueber hard and not only got the entire garden tilled, but we also put up the fence.  Because we are rockstars.  Clearly.

We put on our thinking caps for this fence and decided to dig a trench so we could bury the fence.

Helpful Farm and Ranch Tip:  When building a fence for your chicken coop, be sure to bury your chicken wire.  Otherwise your chickens might declare themselves to “Free-Range” chickens without your approval.

Ask me how I know.

Our garden is a large rectangle.  The long sides are each a bit over 100 feet and the width is somewhere around 30-40 feet.  It is a bit tricky to try and stretch 8ft high wire across 100ft.  But have no fear!  My husband is The Man with a Plan.

Introducing David’s 432nd use for a Winch (not a wench):

Pulling wire tight.

You see the truck way down there?  The winch on the truck is pulling the wire tight so we don’t have to.

David.  So brilliant.  And he was homeschooled.  So soldier on, fellow homeschooling moms.

Soldier on.

So, we pulled the wire tight across the great expanse that is soon to be our garden.

And guess what?  I have never gardened.  Ever.  My husband tends to do things on a grand scale.

My wife wants chickens?  I shall bring her 34 before I even put in a fence.

My wife wants a garden?  I shall make her the largest garden known to man and wish her the best of luck.

My wife doesn’t want rabbits?  Ha.  We shall have 40-130, depending on how amorous the rabbits are feeling on any given month.

I would have to say I reached a low point in my life last weekend.  You see, dear readers, we decided to attach chicken wire to the bottom portion of the fence to keep out the smaller critters.  You know.  Like chickens.  David gave me this job and in order to do it, I had to plop my hiney right into the soil/rabbit poo mixture and attach wire along the fence.

You should have seen my hiney.  It was the final step in my transformation from city girl to hillbilly.

***

Let’s talk about Little Dude.  Oh, he is giving me trouble.  Yes, yes.

He loves him some spaghetti and so I gave him some for lunch.  I turned my back for 0.4 seconds and this is what happened:

Me:  Why is there spaghetti on Tank’s head?

LD:  Cause he like ba-sketti, too, Mom.

The astute reader might notice the boy is not wearing pants.  To that reader I say:

“Have you read this blog?”

Little Dude is also trying to be helpful with the chickens.  He brought in eggs today.

See?

He also couldn’t find his boots, so he wore flip flops and got his toes all dirty.  I bet you can find the boots though, can’t you?  Not so tricky, Little Dude.

Since his grimy hands were full of eggs, he did not think to close the coop door.  This resulted in

The Great Chicken Escape of 2012

I sent Little Dude, the helpful soul that he is, back into the house.  And he went.  But he forgot to close the door and let the dogs out.

The dogs find it to be their duty to slaughter all inferior chickens immediately.  So you can imagine my predicament.

There was a lot of yelling, my friends.  And wing-flapping.  And yelling.  But no chickens died and the dogs remain innocent.

We are, however, launching a new slogan around here.  You know.  To motivate the dogs.

“Chickens are Friends.  Not Food.”

The kids find this to be humorous.  And what is life without humor?  I ask you?

It’s a ridiculously crazy life full of fugitive chickens, broken eggs, and rabbit poo.  One must find something to laugh about.

Thankfully, the girls and I have gotten to be good “Chicken Wranglers.”

And we herded them all back in.

And of course, the chickens will just poke their way through the unburied fence and go on more adventures.

But we get points for trying.