Earthquakes, a hurricane bearing down on us. What's next, locusts? I didn't feel the earthquake and I'm not sold on this hurricane thing. Afterall, I had an aunt named Irene and she was batty. The idea that she could plan five days out for anything, much less the devastation of the Eastern Seaboard is ludicrous.
But the ladies--all seven of them--seem to think something is up. Rarely do they run for the coop earlier than a minute to sunset, and never do the little ones cuddle with the older ladies. But running and cuddling they are, in the middle of the day. The four-month-old chicks were pushed up against the four-year-old hen, and the Polish Crested was attempting to get between the two bantams--a daring feat in itself since they hate to be separated from one another.
So, we shall see. A case of animal foretelling or just crazy hens? I'm hoping for the latter.
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