Sleepover...

 If you have ever lived with chickens you will know that most of them do not enjoy the snow. Luckily for local hens, we have had a fairly open winter so far, but the last few weeks the ground has been covered in icy white. This keeps my birds close to the coop. They might venture out for a snack or a bit of sun, but most of the day is spent close to the pop door so they can retreat indoors if their scaly toes get cold. 

All except one brave hen. She has skittered down the slope from the coop to the little hole in the fence that leads to the pasture. From there she has navigated across the field, past the manure pile and hay rack, and into the Donkey Dorm and Goat Cozy. She spends the day scratching around, a single bird amongst the hoofstock. All is well until evening comes, and she suddenly isn't so keen to skate back to her cozy coop.  You know, the place where there is food, water, safety, shelter, and the company of other avians. So she decides to have a sleepover with her mammalian pals. 

She either tucks herself into the goat's hay bucket or perches on the gate between the goat and donkey rooms. This isn't entirely safe. Though it's doubtful the donkeys would let a predator into their house, she is more exposed here than in the locked-tight coop. She could get stepped on by a misplaced hoof, and there is not a ready water supply for her, even if she can find enough seeds and bits of hay to keep her crop full. 

The biggest problem is that I have been forbidden to go out to take care of the animals by both my husband and (bossy) daughter. Last week I lifted something in a thoughtless way and strained muscles in my lower back. It's a bit better each day, but I've been banned from lifting, toting, hauling, and most of all, meandering on ice until I am fully healed.  This means that Chris and Rachel have been taking care of all the stock every day, all week, and Chris has to try to catch the bird at dusk with our trusty fishing net. If Rachel is here in the evening, the two of them tag team to catch the errant featherhead. Then she is escorted home tucked under someone's arm, and reunited with her family. 

Tonight we decided to let her stay put. Permissiveness runs rampant here at FairWinds. With my trusty barn cam, I can peek in and see her, sleeping soundly with her pals. I guess she's tired of being cooped up in the snow with all the other fowl and is enjoying a little "alone" time across the pasture.