They’re huge! They’re at least three times the size they were when I picked them up at the co-op. And they have little wingtip and butt-tip feathers. And they’re significantly noisier. And they shovel shavings into their water three or four times a day so that they can’t drink and they shriek in horror at their impending doom until I come rescue them (by scooping the shavings out).
They were once curious about me but ever since I removed and replaced their litter a few days ago (which meant leaning my freakishly huge body into their home while brandishing a giant hitherto-known scoop (there’s nothing chickens fear like the unknown) and briefly exposing them to the true (and slippery) nature of their floor) they have been terrified of me.
Ah, chickens. Such drama. Such tiny brains. Such amusement.
So much poop . . . .