Has shifted. Sometime in the last 48 hours, Weezle figured out he’s twice the size of Noah. Poor Noah got put in the pen so he could have his share of treats, and a healthy dose of antibacterial spray for his injuries.
He went to his usual coop. Weezle, Violet, Rhoda, the weird sisters, and Noah. Meggan and Black Frances have a swank coop to themselves.
This morning it was worse. He was all alone all day. We decided to treat his injuries, but consider putting him out of his misery. He’s a leghorn, and Weezle is an Aracauna, so we want Weezle to sire our next generation.
We have a restraining cone, but nothing else. It’s chick time at the feed store, so there are little kids squealing at the totes adorbs little fluff balls. And here I am on the next aisle looking for instruments of death. The sales girl comes up, and I very quietly explain what I need. Hoping I don’t scar some poor kid for life.
I went to put the chickens away. And Noah was nowhere to be found. Looked in the usual spots. Nothing. So, I hoped the odds were ever in his favor and went in.
My cat was sitting in the window intent on something. I look outside and on our front porch is Noah, looking very much like this.
So we get stuff to catch him. I did neglect to ask how one uses the chicken catcher, so we ran around the yard for ten minutes or so, and finally cornered him in the run under the bachelorette pad. We put him in his own coop, sprayed him down with meds, and called it a night.
This was not what I was planning to write about, but that happens. Stay tuned for tractor shenanigans and gardening stuff.
And for my debate friends, from Masati in 69 – in a mood of rage and hate the balance of power may very well shift into the reckless hands of those who would disrupt the precarious balance of peace, and plunge the whole world into nuclear holocaust.