Saturday, July 30, 2011

Hillmomba's Army

You've gotta hand it to these chickens. They are our first line of defense. And cheaper than Frontline.

We have had no tick incidents this year. So far. Knock on scrap wood that Farmer H brings home from work for building outhouses and miniMansions and workshops and tool sheds.

As I type this, from Shiba, my upstairs laptop, instead of New Delly, my basement desktop, the chickens are swarming the front yard and the porch. It's kind of creepy. Even though I've never watched The Birds in its entirety. They seem restless. Angsty. Like they're waiting for something.

Maybe they are anticipating the arrival of Farmer H. They will be anticipating a while longer. The Farmer has gone to Kansas City for a professional soccer game. Not that he's a soccer aficionado. He was offered two free tickets through work. The only hitch was...he had to drive to Kansas City. But his benefactor is putting him up in a hotel overnight, and the tickets come with a club thingy for free food and drink. So he's just out the gas money. He has taken his co-pilot, the #1 son. The Pony and I are holding down the Mansion. The Pony is tending the flock and the herd.

For the record, chickens really like two-day-old instant mashed potatoes, fried rice that sat out all night, and the dry, tasteless edges of Pop Tarts. This army is marching on a stomach full of unwanted carbs.

2 comments:

labbie1 said...

Sounds like I should add chickens to the fenced area outside of our camper! I have never seen ticks like this!!!! I get them, the dogs get them. Ick!!!!

I have some fried rice that I could contribute too! Sounds like Sunday is fried rice day all around huh? :)

Hillbilly Mom said...

labbie,
The dogs have gotten a few of those giant bloated DOG TICKs, but I like to pretend they are entirely different than the brown kind that become attached to me. And I blame the dogs, because they roam all over other people's land and down in the woods. Chickenless area.

Any day is good for fried rice, according to my son. I get the steamed rice, and decide not to eat it, and he takes that, too. He must have been full, because he left out a partial bowl of rice overnight. Voila! Chicken feed!