We've learned a few things about our chickens in the months that they've been a part of our family. For starters, they don't like being alone. Take two away and the third will let out a forlorn peeping wail until she is reunited with her compadres. Secondly, they like us. They like being near us. Leave them out in the yard and eventually, they will come seeking company. Even, if that means venturing into the big, dark house.
Lined up on the back porch, pondering the thought of venturing into the kitchen
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Unfortunately, I only allow chickens into the kitchen if they are of plucked, gutted, and cold variety: um. DEAD. Live chickens are not welcome.
Unsurprisingly, it is Phoebe that makes the first move over the threshold. The smallest, loudest, and most social of our chickens, she is a born follower but more bold (foolhardy?) than her fellow hensWhat? Bringing friends? This is NOT ok. Out you go chickens! Out! Out! Go play with Bailey.