|My Wet Hen Marie|
For most of my life I have assumed if you get a chicken wet it will, in turn, get mad. Why would my mother have reason to lie about wet hens? She grew up on a farm for gosh sakes. Clearly she knows her farm animals and their propensities toward rain or water.
Last night the weather was looking a bit stormy. The ladies had not had much time to free-range this week and I really wanted them to get out in the yard for a good stretch of their wings. Out they came from their run, happy as clams to be roaming about gathering bugs. (Great, now I have find out if clams are really happy...Guess I'll be 'googling' after this post)
Then it came. The winds and the rain. I was out gathering eggs and ran for the back porch to take cover. I assumed the ladies would head for the cover of their run. Since they saw me running to the house, they came a flapping behind me. I thought it was to take cover. They thought I was running for the meal worm treats kept on the porch. With no treats to be seen, off the ladies went back into the yard and into the rain. Hunting. Pecking. Gathering bugs. Not one seemed the least bit mad.
As the rains came in heavier, the ladies opted to take a break in the covered run but that only lasted a short time. Back out they went into the rain. Crazy ladies.
|Felicia shaking off the rain|
|Dolores unphased by a light shower|
So what am I to surmize? Are my chickens different? Are they happier? Do they know they not know what my mother knows? I am certainly not going to tell them. They looked too cute frolicking out in the rain.