Frozen chicken

Sophie checks out the frost

None of the animals except Al have ever seen snow. We got about 3 inches yesterday afternoon and overnight it got down to about -5 degrees. So after de-icing the door to the chicken coop we revealed a bright white landscape, no visible grass or mud, unrecognisable feeders and frozen water butts – the ladies were unconvinced and declined the invitation to emerge.

 

I think Al had been talking to them about how it never snowed in London. Everything was better there according to him.

But being good country girls, the hens wanted to decide for themelves. At first Patsy poked her beak out but had to be pushed out by Rosie. Poor old Patsy panicked and flapped about, reluctant to plunge her icy chicken feet back into the frost. While she looked for a way to keep both feet off the ground at the same time (the technical chickens call this flying) the others hesitantly prodded their way out, each moaning quietly about the chill on their talons.

This set the tone. The ministry of silly poultry walks was in business well and truly. Shady high-stepped around like an indignant feathery member of the Swiss guard, sshe could hardly get her foot high enough on each step.

ooh...ooh...cold..cold..cold

Eventually they all calmed down and scratched away the ice near the coope door, even eating some red pepper peelings. Alan just clicked his tongue from the living room window.

Huddle up...chickens out, just about