Every night the girls get the chicks out of their cardboard box and let them run wild in the kitchen. First we have to put down a layer of newspaper, because those girls are very messy. Let's just say that their digestive systems must be extremely uncomplicated. What goes in, must come out.
The older girls weren't in the mood to play with the chickens tonight, so I got down on the floor with the least one. She was on one side of the room, and I was the barrier on the other side, with the kitchen cabinets and appliances on the long sides. We pinned them in. After a bit, after they'd attempted flying around awhile, they began to light on my skirt. And Madelyn and Milk would get on my shoulder---so sweet to feel those feathers against my neck. They're not afraid at all, though a bit skittish when there's rapid movement, but are so tame at this point. Such little loves.
After about 15 or 20 minutes, the chicks began to get tired. They'd nestle down on my lap, sometimes four of the five. So sweet. Their little tummies were so warm against my skin. Almost hot, their feet included. Little feathered ovens.
Getting them was just the thing to do. With all that's in my tattered mind lately, a very good thing.
