Maybe it's impossible to explain to people who've never raised chickens, but they're at least as good as television. Each one is a character it her own right, and, especially as the "babies" have started maturing, and working out their own pecking order, things have gotten exponentially more amusing. They flap, they run, they run and flap. They chase moths. They get into little beak-duels with each other over who gets to sit on top of the box. So far, Patsy (black-and-white) is the best at that game.
Patrick and I sit out in our camp chairs drinking things with ice in them. Sometimes Pete and Diesel join us. Sometimes we try to feed Pete's tail to the chickens. (So far, no takers.)
Maybe we're simplistic country folks, maybe we're just crazy. But I'm telling you, it's all the entertainment I need on a week night.
(P.S. We still have the red one-- Loretta-- though somehow she didn't make it into these pictures.)