He woke up way too soon fom his nap this afternoon and immediately asked "can I put on my boots and go in the chicken coop?". Now I'd promised this to him at a play date this morning, "after nap you can go feed the chickens". I'm always amazed when he remembers these things but I shouldn't be. If he doesn't remind me of something, it's because he doesn't want to not because he's forgotten.
We put on his coat and his froggy boots, I opened the gate to the chicken run and let him loose on the girls. Per his insistence, I went back inside. That's why the first photos are all sneaky paparazzi shots.
Filling up the bucket with scratch
Off to find the girls
They're down in the coop (there's a little pathway on the left to get to the coop)
Pouring scratch into the coop pen
I absolutely love the way J is enamoured of the hens (and always has been) and the way he has wanted to learn to feed and take care of them. He thinks they're wonderful. Most days I view them as a (mostly happy) chore, let them out in the morning, lock them up at night, collect eggs, feed, water, clean the coop. J gets nothing but pure pleasure from being with them, he talks to them, gives them treats, etc.
We've had chickens for about 5 years now and I don't ever want to live someplace where we can't have hens and have dreams of a larger flock that can really free range some day. We're going to get a few more chicks this Spring and J will name and help me take care of them - a gentle precursor to the 4-H program I will sign him up for when he's 5. Just a happy set of photos that remind me of how glad I am for a series of fortunate circumstances that led us to keeping chickens.
The egg we collected today - from YaYa (J named her)