Wood Piles, Worms and Chicken Debates

I like a good wood pile. It reminds me of what is to come… namely the smell of burning wood in cold air for months on end.

I don’t know of a better smell.

Wood burning in cold air is my favorite. Second only to wood burning in warm air.

Getting the wood to appear as a nice overflowing lump on the ground is another matter. It requires two days worth of sweat and blisters. And some sort of wood splitter, through which big logs go in and come out as four smaller ones. Or an axe if you’re feeling old fashioned and like a lumberjack.

I’ll admit it. I rarely am the one shoving the big logs into the wood splitter. Which is probably why I find this pile so charming.

But you know who else likes the wood pile?

The chickens. And they help even less. They like it because underneath that heaping pile are damp leaves and dark cool crevices, a breeding ground for fat worms and copious insects. It is pig heaven–rather, chicken heaven in there. That’s partly why they’re so eager to leave their fenced in area every day. So they can get to this big damp wonderland of fat worms and copious insects.

The problem is that the coyotes are becoming rather bold these days. As is the red fox. They’ve been showing up in broad daylight.

And so there is a lot of debate over whether they ought to be let out.

I say no. They have a cedar house with insulation no less. They are spoiled chickens.

They even have a little solar powered door that goes up with the sun and down with the sun, and a little ramp to help them walk up and down. It’s a regular Ritz Carlton here. I’m thinking about moving in.

But they can be very persuasive these chickens — rather manipulative actually. They come hysterically running to the door as soon as they come down the ramp, ready to spend the day roaming around the wood pile.

We also debate over whether they really know the difference… perhaps they’re so spoiled that they’re conditioned to thinking they’re supposed to go straight out the gate as soon as the day starts. I’m not convinced they have that much brain power. But a few softies who shall remain nameless think they get very upset if they don’t go out and roam around.

Those nameless softies are starting to agree with me after the Lucy incident. But the verdict seems to oscillate based on how manipulative the chickens are on a given morning. Some mornings they’re really persuasive.

I just turn the other cheek and take their eggs.

And say, “Chickens, go lay me an egg and stop whining.”

Then they give me a dirty look and wait for the softies to come visit and let them out.