I don’t know why chickens do the things they do. And with their tiny pea-sized brains, I doubt they do either. For the last few weeks the chickens have been shunning their coop and roosting on top of it, crammed in among supplies and branches and other detritus. Maybe it’s a molting thing, or a seasonal thing, or a silly chicken thing. I used to go out each night and relocate them, wings flapping and pointy beaks fussing and claws scrabbling, into the coop. Then I gave up, thinking it would serve them right if a raccoon or possum got them. Then I realized it would serve me right because chickens can barely defend themselves in the daytime when they are awake and slightly capable. At night they are pretty much the perfect food–fat, docile, and quiet. Something had to be done. A friend said maybe, by nature, they wanted to roost higher and our plebian ground-level accommodations just weren’t up to snuff. Well fine then.
Here’s the new updated chicken coop on nice tall legs with a beautiful custom ramp with Claw Grip’r™ traction bars.
On the first night two, TWO!, chickens were nestled comfy in the coop, the third sitting on the roof like a gargoyle. The next night, two on the roof. Okay, FINE! I relocated them and am now trying to figure out how to entice them into the coop where I can close them up each night safe from predators like chicken owners tired of chicken nonsense and ready to make chicken soup. Ginger is wary about this idea, Medusa is canny enough to run away. Soup’s on!
Writer, architect, father, husband.