THE GREAT CHICKEN REBELLION OF 2020 PT. 6     

 

 

 

 

     I went to the bargaining table a third time and this time, I had the big guns blazing. I not only made the offer to move the store bought plastic garbage can bin from it’s present location alongside the poultry house to alongside the shop, I also offered to buy another small house that they could lay in. Maybe, if I tried to recreate their previous laying scenario to a certain degree, maybe then they’d be happy and maybe then I’d get some eggs.  

     My sister wasn’t completely sure we could move the big plastic bin and I had some questions myself, but I was determined to try. I just knew if it were moved the chickens would finally see what a worthwhile laying spot it was, and my troubles of a feathered sort would be over. So, after breakfast one Sunday morning, we went out to the poultry yard and with my sister pulling while I pushed, we slid the bin a foot and a half at a time and got it away from the poultry house. So far, so good. It wasn’t really as heavy as all that. Rather, it was cumbersome, though, as determined as I was to get it out, I probably would have pushed it had it been a railroad car!   Slowly, slowly, the bin slid along. Foot after foot we pushed and pulled until we reached the poultry yard fence at which point, we had to stop so my sister could use some metal snips to clip the wire. Once this had been accomplished and that section of the fence moved aside, we slid that bin through and up against the back of the shop with a satisfying thud. We had done it. We had gotten it moved all by ourselves. We felt capable. We felt strong. I adjusted the doors just so to allow for privacy and we walked away feeling hopeful that this would finally appease hens who were suddenly refusing to be mollified. 

     My next step was to order a new doghouse on eBay, and I found one that was just perfect. It was larger than the old beloved house I had so thoughtlessly taken away and it was made to be waterproof so I could potentially leave it outside. I clicked on the “buy it now” button and then made my payment. I was more optimistic than ever that things were going to start to change for the better. The only thing left for me to do was to find somewhere to buy some straw so the new house could have the proper bedding as could the garbage can bin turned laying spot. This was proving to be a bit difficult, too, due to a poor harvest.

      A week later, the house arrived, and I was thrilled. In what was becoming a deplorable pattern, the hens had shown little interest in the garbage bin turned laying spot. I hadn’t been able to blame themfor that, in all honesty. The straw that was in there was old and a bit musty. Their discriminating butts deserved better than that. Once I was able to get some more straw and once I got this wonderful new house together, well, tiny picket signs would be put down and work producing wonderful eggs would resume. I was positive.

    Regrettably, my sister and I didn’t get to start work on the new laying house until six p.m. on a Sunday evening several days later due to our having to help with putting new shingles on the roof of the shop, a job that took the better part of two days. We were tired, we were hungry, but the directions said assembly would take only a half an hour. So, we got to work smack dab in the middle of the living room. The directions lied. It took us closer to two hours. We hate directions that are nothing but diagrams. Whatever happened to explaining things with words? Nevertheless, it was together, and we were elated. We carried the house out to the farmyard and set it down with such reverence you would have thought we were carrying a casket. Soon, I would buy some straw, having finally found a store that had some in stock, and, well, this avian nightmare would end.