Chasing Hens In Heels; The Rooster Staged a Coup

Preface:

This is not a cute title for a post that is acutally about baking chicken spaghetti in your sunday best.

This post is literally about chasing hens in heels. 

I knew our sunday was scheduled to the hilt. What I did not account for was the scheduling of chicken tending to fall between sunday morning church and lunch at the big Bud's(Hubs Parents)

So, I was not exactly prepared for hen hunting but, neverthless, hen hunting was the fate of my black peep-toes.

I know what your thinking, and yes, I could have stayed in the truck and let my dashing young groom collect eggs and tend to their feeding, and he certainly would have. However, seeing as the chicken coop is  on his brother's property (as it is a little more rural than our humble suburban abode) I don't get to see those ole birds just everday. So you see, I couldn't help but stick my nose in. 

 While we are collecting our spoils we don't think twice about the fact that most of the hens (fourteen of them, to be exact) have huddled toward the door while we ravage their nest boxes.

It's at this time that the rooster, who is under Hub's feet, spurs him right in the shin bone, he drops an egg and cracks it, I quickly pick it up to throw it out to the dog and turn around to the hens scrambling out the door!

Oops, Mrs. Can't stay in the car might not have shut the door securely behind her....fourteen hens and ole Foghorn Leghorn (the rooster) flew the coop!

There are too many predators for us to be able to let them roam totally free range. They have to be in the coop or the chicken tractor to protect them from coyotes, german shepherds named Zues, etc. and so I chased fourteen hens in heels....through the woods....and puddles...and thorn bush filled brush. 

HELP!! HELP ME!! THEIR GETTING AWAY! THEIR GOING EVERYWHERE!! HEAD THEM OFF THIS WAY!!... SEAN! ....BABE?!.... I NEED HELP!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!...................

At this point I learn that I am alone in my pursuit to save the hens and Hub's is intently chasing the rooster with a garden rake in hand swinging like a mad man with a more dire intended outcome.

So I continued to unsuccessfully attempt to herd the hens. Eventually the attempted (rooster) murderer joins me in chasing chickens in a circle. We get nowhere.Considering it can take an hour to hunt down just one of those little buggers and with a family lunch time fast approaching, we leave the chickens victors. Fast forward to dusk, when they would inevitably be hungry and cold, we went back to find the escapees ready scurry into home sweet home.

Fourteen hens went out to play only thirteen came back that day. 

RIP Mother Hen.

RIP Black Peep-Toes.