It had been a running gag between Liz and me that once we moved into a place with a good yard, we should get chickens. We happened to mention this to the neighbor once he moved in, and he told us that his dad could "get us some chickens no problem" as they were planning on getting some themselves. Without any date in mind, my mind was set on the incoming fiasco of a rental truck full of crushed grapes to deal with. While at a tasting room in Napa for a family gathering, I get a phone call from my neighbor saying he's got a paper bag with three chickens in it for us. Fortunately, he is able to fashion a short term fence for them, and Liz and I stop by the local pet store on our way home from the airport the following day to buy a chicken coop. Only the closest thing is a dog house.
(left to right) Spongebob, Scramble and Brix
It may not look like much, but when we brought them into the dog house, they started cooing. That humanizing little coo probably saved them from becoming soup... It's funny to think that over the past generations, only the cutest chickens weren't eaten.
Closeup of Spongebob (left) and Scramble (right)
The night that we brought home the grapes, I thought it might be a good idea to let them out of the pen... only they flew up into the neighbor's mulberry tree and it took three of us, a few sticks and some climbing to get them back. Wine and chickens. I couldn't have said it better myself:
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