As fall progresses, there are not many opportunities to let the chickens out for a walk-about. In summer and early fall, when I get home from work, there are a couple hours of light remaining before the sun goes down. So, they can spend an hour or two happily scratching through the grass, leaves, and compost pile for bugs and other yummies. Now, though, dusk has usually arrived by the time I get home and they are ready for chicken bedtime, so I generally only let them out on Saturday or Sunday.
Friday, I managed to leave work early. I was happy because it meant I could let the chickens have some time to roam after a week of being cooped up.
After everyone left the run and made a beeline to the compost pile, I noticed Oscar had not fed them in the morning. I put my pitchfork down (used as armour to keep the rooster at bay when he decides to be onery) and turned away to open the feed bucket.
Road Runner, the rooster, had snuck up behind me and took the opportunity to flog me!
I was not pleased. (You’ll want to read that with a voice dripping with sarcasm).
I started flinging things at him and yelling my opinion about his life choices.
Unfortunately, I don’t have good aim. I flung a scoop of food with all my might at him. It missed. That made me madder. I flung a rake at him, and … it missed. I threw a bucket at him and, you guessed it, it missed.
Through all of this, the rooster is just standing there looking at me like he’s trying to figure out what is wrong with me. Or maybe he was just enjoying the entertainment.
By now I am outraged. I picked up the pitchfork and chased that dratted rooster around the yard shouting, “You do not do that to me. Do you understand???”
I stopped when I saw the neighbor’s car pull up in his driveway. I certainly didn’t need witnesses to that little bit of insanity.