Delishmus pahnckn fresh in March dunno why just the neighbor lady gave it over the fence woohoo pahnckn fr chikn

schlarrp.

Errbody’s back to laying full-time and they’re making some lovely tints.

BATTLE OF THE STUDIO D’UCCLES:

Wiglet is finally staging a comeback. She had a really sad molt late this past fall, and the four newer chickens used it as an opportunity to kick her off her throne. They were really brutal to her, and she moved from the top to the bottom of the pecking order very quickly (in their defense, she was pretty obnoxious when she was at the top.)

Today, with just a look, Miss Wiggs sent Miss Spoons reeling away in terror, and while she may not be top of the order yet, she definitely claimed her position as Empress of the Printing Paper Stack. She looks very regal up there.

Doesn’t hurt that her feathers came back twice as gorgeous as they were. Her breed’s coloration (porcelain) is referred to as “fresh snow on winter hay.” She knows she’s purty.

Further adventures from Poopwallow Studio:

The Ladies devoured their apple chop today, then screeched for more. The only two things they like more than apple are cole slaw (sans dressing) and carrot greens. When they get carrot greens, they full on frighten me. They devolve immediately.

Miss Tablespoon Splendid warbled from atop the printer once she was done feasting, and then half-assedly flew from there to my lap a couple of times. I think she was really just trying to dislodge Miss Wiglet, whom she DESPISES.

Wiggie was plopped right over my heart as usual, though, purring and creeping ever upward, until she’s wedged under my chin, violin-style.

Miss Valise is too massive to hop up on my lap, but she dino-yodels until I lift her up and snuggle with her. She gets JELLIS. She’s also an under the chin snuggler, but only her big ol’ head fits.

Four more days of studio chickens, then they’re headed back to the coop. Yesterday, it was six below zero, and I trekked out to the coop for grit and oyster shell, and with the ceramic heater (and sun coming through the window) it was 48 degrees in there, and that’s with no hot little chicken bodies. I guess they would have been okay out there, but they are enjoying their vacation at my all-inclusive resort, so it was worth it.

Also, Toad says hello.

It’s going to be double digits below zero at night here in Minneapolis every night for about ten consecutive days. I can’t stand the thought of the Ladies being out there in such grim temps. Their coop is heated safely, with a ceramic panel wall heater, and the run is well-sheltered, but still. It just seemed too bleak, and I worry as it is, checking the Bluetooth thermometer I keep next to my bed a couple times a night. It never gets much below forty each night, but this long of a run of subzero is just too much to deal with.

So I moved six cranky hens into my studio, which is fully, comfily heated. I set up a nice secure two by four on some sawhorses, dragged their nesting box in, set up their feeder. I put down a few pieces of plastic drop cloth to limit the mount of poop I’d inevitably step in. (The first winter I had chickens was the first winter after I’d converted my tuck-under garage to a studio space, and I moved the three birds I had at the time, two of which I still have, into the newly-finished studio for the winter. It was fine, except I tracked in pine shavings and feathers throughout my house no matter how careful I was, and courtesy of the forced air heating, my whole house eventually smelled like chickens.

I really adore my birds so I didn’t care that much, but I was also excited to build them a new coop that Spring. While it was really convenient to not have to trudge through snow to spend time with them, it was really disruptive having them indoors full-time. Afternoon naps with three birds perched on my legs was fun, but that winter wore on and on.

Regardless, I brought them into the studio two days ago, and of course they immediately trashed the place like Johnny Depp in the late eighties. They flung so much feed around that it was comical, proudly pooped on every horizontal surface, slept on my work table, on my printer, and stacked storage containers rather than the rigged perch I’d made them, and layed eggs on my comfy chair, rather than their heavy nesting box that they’d always favored and I had thoughtfully dragged in.

And they SCOLD me, SO MUCH. In a closed space, it’s really caustic sounding. It’s hard not to take it personally when they look you directly in the eye and SCREAM.

Having whined all of that, it’s really nice being able to visit them ten times a day without bundling up and cramming on Wellies. They yammer at me while they eat their veggies, and Wiglet flies from my work table to my arms like a magician’s dove. Dear, dim Deluxe (the black Silkie) crapped all over my shirt while I was crooning to her. I went upstairs, washed, changed shirts and came back and she did it again, immediately.

I am incapable of getting angry at these creatures. They’re just demolishing the studio (I mean, it’s all washable and cleanable) but I just sit and giggle. I clean up the worst of the mess daily while they glare at me sulkily from the other end of the room; they seem to view cleaning as some sort of mildly dangerous insanity on my part.

Last night I realized I had to print a UPS label for something I’d sold on eBay, and I went down to the studio, turned on a dim light and gently lifted up a sleeping Miss Asthma from the top of my printer, then cradled her while I one-handedly printed a label. I don’t think she even knew I’d been there.

Earlier tonight, I tried to peer in at the ladies from the doorway but it was too dark in there to see anything. I have a Ring camera in there, but there’s so much dust presently that the view looks like the contents of my dryer’s lint trap, and I keep forgetting to clean it off when I’m with the Ladies. Leaning waaay into the doorway and squinting for so long made me laugh out loud for some reason, and when I did, Deluxe shrieked, so I closed the door quickly and said, involuntarily, SORRRRYSORRRYSORRRRRRY. Which just made me cackle some more.

They’re my batshit children and I love them so.

[FWIW I know no one is reading any of these posts, but tbh I am posting for my own sanity at this point. Not going anywhere is slowly driving me crazy, and now staying inside due to frigid temps just makes it worse. I feel truly fortunate having the ladies, and sweet Toad, but I want to garden, and build things, and hang out with the neighbor kids so damn badly.]

I built a shed last summer.

Until I built my coop and run, I had no idea I liked building things so much.

I had lots of gardening, wild bird feeding, and coop stuff, so when I converted my tuck-under garage to a studio space, I had no place to store it all.

Next year, that round planter will hold trailing morning glories.

The inside of the shed is not so pretty, but hiding all that crap makes the yard prettier.

Next summer, I have to rebuild/reinforce my ancient second story deck.

Is there a self love greater than homemade quiche?

I THINK NOT GOOD SIR OR MADAM, I THINK NOT.

Also it smells so good I could plotz.

My super-spoiled baby lady.

Miss Wiglet eventually always positions herself right over my heart. She must be instinctively drawn to a heartbeat.

She really loves when I gently dig my fingers deeply into her feathers around her neck and shoulders and massage the skin underneath. She wants me to do it for hours and scolds me when I stop. She’s a bossy little lovebucket. I’m always shocked at how skinny her neck is under all those feathers. Hers is about the diameter of my thumb. They’re so fragile, them boids.

Once the sun starts setting though, she’s had enough of cozy warm studio time, and starts pacing and purrrruping back and forth at the sliding glass door that leads to the path to her coop, and the Mean Girls who torment her. I’m only her daylight boyfrent.

Miss Wiglet joined me in a studio day, today. She’s been bullied, and it’s slowly getting better, but she’s lost weight and I’m afraid she doesn’t get enough opportunity to eat.

She took a nice long nap on my chest, and ate, so today was a success, I guess. I really think the bullying will resolve itself when they have their big ol’ yard to romp in, and not just their run and coop (they refuse to go out in the cold and snow.)

In the meantime, she’s my studio partner. My muse, Miss Wiglet Louise Soote.

You have been judged and found wanting.

Next is the punishment phase of your trial. Miss Asthma will be the judge there, as well. You are dooooomed.

When Miss Cursive (seen on the left here, affectionately obliterating her sister Wiglet in their dirt bath) died, the only person possibly more distraught than me was my seven year-old next door neighbor (and her siblings, but Sofia was especially crushed.)

Above is the paean she wrote (and mournfully sang for me, from her side of the fence) the day after Miss Cursive’s death. (Please note that she misspelled “friend” as “fried” and we did not eat Cursive.)

“No, ma’am.”

Some nice things from this summer:

Wiglet finally comfortable, now that she has scaled me and is perched very precariously just under my chin.

Neighbor kid’s fashion choices:

Toad relaxed, which is rare:

Rusty coop art:

“So I think this is the best costume for today,” thought Miss Deluxe Splendid.

“I think I will wear one of Miss Spoons’ feathers at a jaunty angle on my own head, and then I will cavort around, peeping in a melancholy tone, as though nothing is different. That would be the right thing to do today.”

Nothing really happens here, I can just barely contain my joy and fondness at Miss Deluxe’s teddy bear waddle. She’s the black silkie, slowly and bowleggedly ambling off, like a bad extra in The Wizard of Oz.

Miss Valise DOES NOT appreciate the sudden sunny cloudburst. It RANKLES her, mightily.

“No, I’m sorry madam, we have no chickens, but we do have some elegant, perfectly round ladies’ hats.

This one is lovely, perfect for church or the Ladies’ Auxiliary Luncheon, but it smells a bit… oh, comment dit-on… “poopish.” La poopoo, n’est-ce pas?”

Miss Wiglet Louise Soote, amidst the fallen clematis petals, pretending she’s getting married.

Miss Swimsuit is receiving visitors.

Please pass any worms through the screen. Thank you.

The noises of piggy satisfaction that Miss Deluxe makes make me snicker.

She’s such a piglet. A broody, grunty, fluffy piglet.