The Girls Are Back

I had Friday off work. Which makes it a Good Friday indeed.

And, because Joseph was off from school, we decided to hit the ground running and take care of a few things.

Things like bringing the Girls home.

When we moved into our snug little rental, we had to foster our chickens out to my aunt. Our landlord wasn't certain he liked the idea of chickens in his yard.

Little did he know the chickens are less destructive than the children.

But, after a few months of paying rent on time and being model renters (except for that patch of dirt under the swing) we asked again. This time he said yes.

Last Monday, Chad and his dad brought the coop over from the Old House. I helped Chad assemble it at the base of the garden and then, on Friday, the kids and I went to pick up our hens.

They were bigger than I remembered. I'd brought a box to cart them home, but one look at the fat, feathered hens and I realized I should have waited to borrow Chad's truck. I watched as Chris loaded them up, putting strips of duct tape loosely across the top of the box to hold them in. I looked at the box sitting in my passenger seat skepitacally. It rocked and shook while the Girls' beaks made dull thuds against the cardboard. I buckled the kids in their car seats and began the drive home.

Every so often, my arm snapped out to hold the box as it shifted forward. The kids fell asleep in the backseat while sitcom scenes of flapping chickens and swerving cars danced in my head. And then, the hens fell asleep. We got home, let the girls out to roam while Joseph and I fixed the coop door, and then...

They got to work.

It's good to have them back.

Even if they did tear up my radishes.