Chicken at the Door

On a day when not much is going on, I can always count on the chickens to provide subject material.  This is one of a pair of hens who came calling, knocking politely on the front door.  Bess Anne has adopted a ho-hum attitude...I guess she's used to our visitors by now.  There's something about chickens that makes me think of fussy little old "club" ladies, fluffing their skirts, gossiping and chattering.  I made a tactical error awhile back and threw some wilted lettuce leaves down to the "ladies" from the deck.  Now whenever I step out the kitchen door, the hens come running with that funny chicken lope to stand below like Romeo under the balcony, waiting for a treat.  Obviously, I'm still trainable because, lacking anything else, I will toss down some frozen peas.  I just hate to see a disappointed chicken. 

October must be the start of turkey mating season.  The toms are beginning to strut their stuff, fanning their tails, getting red in the face, deepening their voices.  All this to impress the hens, who give the impression they couldn't care less.  Like kids at a junior high dance, the girls cluster together while the males posture on the other side of the gym, showing off, hoping the chosen girl will say yes.

Down in the valley, October brings fog.  Up here, we get early morning and evening ground mists that float through the trees, giving an other-world look to the hills across the way.  The moon is full now, and Frank stays out to do a little midnight hunting by its light.  He comes in as I'm getting up and sleeps all day.  Pearl forgoes the hunt for the comfort of a warm bed at night.