We recently ventured forth for a weekend trip to see family in the next state over. It was our first overnight trip since the whole pandemic exploded (and my heart goes out to those still locked down). We’ve had our shots, the dogs were boarded, which was not a happy time for Missy, but she survived and ate, but wouldn’t leave her room. Griffin was excited, so he probably kept her from complete melt down, as they bunked together. The cats had food and water, but told us what they thought about being locked down for two days when we got back. They are not big fans of it either.

I set the chickens up with a full feeder and all five watering stations filled, with one foot bath set up to flush with a hose every night (it wasn’t very efficient but it made me feel better). I was unable to rig the doors to open and shut to cool the coop before bed, but luckily the weather was relatively mild for a Texas summer, it was “only” 90 degrees in their coop at night. I could see on the camera that their necks were stretched out more than usual, and their wings held away from their bodies to dissipate the heat held by their feathers.

When we returned home the chickens were fine, but there were seven eggs in the nest boxes, and one left by the pop door. Amazingly, none of the hens went broody, even with a clutch of eggs beckoning. (I did open all the nest box curtains, which they don’t care for.)

On a hot summer’s day I was surprised to see two hens laying out in the dirt in the direct sunlight. One’s leg was thrust out, and their limbs looked in disarray. Oh no. Has the heat killed my chickens? I snapped a photo before I opened the door. As soon as the latch clicked, they were both up and demanding grubs. So not dead. Just enjoying a little baking in the sun when it is sweltering. Ok. Usually they are all huddled in the heavy shade and at least one is standing in the foot bath, if not two. This unusual position and timing gave me a scare for certain.

The rain. The rain that just keeps coming. I know it is springtime in Texas, which means rainstorms, but this year feels different. It isn’t Harvey bad, we actually have seen the sun and blue sky, but the ground is so wet and has been soaking wet with little chance to dry out. The chicken’s run has been wet for so long it is growing algae. Twilight couldn’t care less, and wanders out into the downpour, coming back looking bedraggled. In the picture above she is not mad about being soaked, she is mad that I am chasing her around with a camera (and also, since I’m there, is there another round of grubs?) On the plus side, the drainage I dug continues to keep the area around the coop door dry, so their food is dry and they have some dry dirt for dust baths. Everything else in the runs, though, is damp and soggy.