Hurricane chicken evacuation plan
Anyone have a partially-used, fully-functioning, battle-tested hurricane chicken evacuation plan they’re willing to part with?
You know ... a chicken plan. Like what you do with your chickens should a big blowing tropical behemoth show up on your door step.
Because I’m a bit stumped. And the Thompson motto (borrowed from the Army Rangers) is simple: Never leave a man ... or critter ... behind.
Damn mottos! It complicates things. These chickens complicate things!
They’re a little over 8 weeks old (long-past the chick stage). Their combs are coming in, and they roam the yard eating bugs and grubs and hamburgers. (Hamburgers grow wild in my backyard.)
I never thought I would say this, but chickens are swell. They have a way of looking at you. It’s like you’re king of the world. Like you're some all-powerful being who has come to give them wisdom — and food. (Mostly food.)
They kind of curtsy and give you the floor and then sit there like you’re going to read them a story. Overall they’re great. They’ll weed the yard for you without a single complaint, and they’re perfectly content when my daughter takes them for a ride on the swing or teaches them circus tricks like hopping down stairs.