I think out blog posts in my head and then later I think maybe I already actually posted.
Nope.
I guess it’s good brain exercise? Or not? I’m not sure. And the question marks look weird on my phone, so now I’m – this is maybe a completely new font, in my WordPress app, and I’m freaking out for the 47th time today.
Why can’t I just ramble about the chickens without having to have my mind blown by a different font in the blog app?!?
CHICKS.
They are messy and they don’t treat me like I’m Snow White or Briar Rose so I am ready for them to be big enough to move outside, so their poop is not in my house. I do still enjoy them. But. Poop. I’ve made it through almost 9 years of diapers. Can I just please get a break soon? Please? I said please.
I can’t get great pictures lately because I’m too lazy to try harder.
And one of the “wild” game hens (from far across the road) was using my maybe-rosemary (I’ve got to investigate this plant mess) to hide herself and some eggs under TheBarn (tucked under the bottom beam, against underpinning that Jona and Appy ripped out last weekend). Jonathan thought he had found a dead crow.
Nope.
I named her Henrietta, but I’ve been calling her Wild Henny. Especially after she traipsed off and I found this:
(At some point, someone found a yellow ball and put it next to the pink one. But I can’t get anyone to ‘fess up to that.)
Y’all, these photos are from, like, a week ago. Maybe next week I’ll document and report in a more timely manner. Maybe. Doubtful.
thebarntales 