I went out at bedtime to close everyone up, which means picking up the cardboard boxes that the wild chicks and the moms they’re still attached to have retired into, and carrying them into the safe box in the greenhouse for the night. There’s a lineup of three boxes.
One was empty.
Oh, great. Foxy and her set have found someplace to sleep outside. I put the other two boxes away, did a quick low crawl to look around the base of the brush piles where they like to rest (wow, they’ve got a proper labyrinth in there), and went for a flashlight and headlamp to mount a search. On the way back, I thought I’d better double check the box contents to make sure I knew exactly who I was looking for.
Foxy and Feisty and their seven chicks between them were all jammed into one box! The smallest box. That box does seem to be preferred. I could just imagine the growling. Yeah, well I want this box too. I called dibs. I’m not leaving. Fine! I’m not leaving either.
As long as they’re happy. In their 140 square inches of real estate. Mental note: they will not be happy in the morning – must not delay letting them out.
They weren’t: Nine birds in a 10x 14 box , what were they thinking?Ursa has a mom-hopper. Ursa’s got attitude. First the yellow one.Then the black ones – corner warming.