Sometimes human reflexes dominate your body. Fear is one of those reflexes. It temporarily paralyzes you. For some reason, we both were afraid to pick up a chicken. Granted, it's a weird thing to do. Who picks up a chicken, anyway? Have you ever picked up a chicken? Other places we've been people just nab them up in their hands, but our reflexes forced us to keep our distance. We had to overcome our hesitancy of slowly approaching, tentatively and half heartedly reaching our hands towards its feathers, only to watch the chickens hobble away as we just sort of stood there being all "oh." So it got away. Well we didn't really want to grab it. But we had to pick her up and tell her we are friends. Couldn't they pick up on our vegetarian vibes? Chickens are friends, not food.
But still, it's an ordeal to pick up a non-domesticated animal. We trapped two chickens in the corner of the tool shed because we couldn't get them to sit down in the open fields and without them sitting down, we had no hope. There the four of us stood: mano a pollo. They were cornered. All we had to do was pick them up! Easy! But we stood there, equally fearful of them as they were of us. Utterly dumbstruck. We had to just do it.
So we grabbed them in our gloved hands and walked out victoriously holding our chickens sort of in outstretched arms not wanting to feel too close to them. But then we brought them closer and petted them and it was okay. And we even got one egg from them, which Jen used to bake another batch of chocolate chip cookies. But seriously, grabbing chickens is crazy.
To show our love to the chickens, we spent the afternoon completing the chicken coop, because we're so concerned for their safety and happiness. But trouble struck when Laurie smashed her finger while hammering the door. Because her thumb hurt, she oversaw us put on finishing touches.
Do the funky chicken.
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