I spent the morning bragging to Doctor Dolittle about my chicken-keeping prowess and grandiose plans. After a few gentle comments about "chicken math" I was too irritated to continue bragging.
Cranky, I went outside to put the chickens up from their late afternoon free range pasture crawl. They had worked over the whole yard and were waiting on the porch. That really chafes me because they leave poo where I do not want it.
The birds refused all suggestions, orders, commands, inducements, bribes and threats. They simply looked at me as if I were an interesting, but distasteful, insect. That really bugged me!
So I called the Doctor.
Doctor Dolittle listened patiently to the symptoms and then prescribed two slices of bread and advised I should call in the morning. Impervious to my eye roll, Doc serenely walked off the porch with the bread, calling the chickens.
They were spellbound! Every few feet Doc would drop a single small bread crumb and the five hens would simultaneously dive for the awesome delicious flying fleck of food. Oh the chickeny joy!
On Doc's command, Mr. Big performed his "crazy chicken head" and then marched into the coop like a conquering hero with his adoring harem close behind.
Meanwhile, I am consuming crow. *sigh*
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