Blow Beryl Blow

We're waiting on Tropical Storm Beryl to sweep through, but it feels like she might never get here. We're in desperate need of rain - the creeks are dry and the grass is crackling - and I was hoping for three solid days of storms to bring the water table back up and wet down the garden. When the wind gets strong I worry about the chickens roosting in the crepe myrtle, but then I remember that wild birds don't all blow away with every storm.

The pullets are still sleeping in the coop, all piled into two nesting boxes underneath David Bowie, the spangled Silkie roo. The pullets make such a mess of the boxes that the hens won't go in there to lay eggs so I've set up two "emergency" nests for them. This has also solved the problem of them squeezing into the doghouse with Buffy. As a hoarder, Buffy kept the eggs for herself, either burying them or carrying them around in her mouth until they were coated with dirt and slobber. She proudly presented me with an egg each evening, but it was so filthy I simply cracked it into the dog bowls over their supper kibble. I hate giving up my eggs.

Getting rid of the extra cockerels has made life in the yard easier on everyone. David Bowie doesn't have to compete with his brothers anymore, so he stays away from Hef and spends most of his time babysitting the pullets, who have two speeds: stop and run. He also likes to follow me around, dancing and begging for cuddles. He's quite friendly, and is easy to handle and pet. My Olde English Game bantam, Hugh Hefner, is happier as well. Without so much fighting to do he's been very attentive to his ladies, leading them on foraging adventures and picking out all the best nibbles for them. Ginny can be quite greedy, so he has his hands (beak?) full trying to make sure Denise and Hermione get enough to eat as well. The pullets aren't on his radar yet, as they're sexually immature, but he does give them a good tug on the head if they don't respect their elders at the feed trays.

The sun is out again. I'm not sure we're ever going to get this storm going, it's 18 hours late already! I suppose I might as well run the garbage down the road. The dogs are already milling in the kitchen, ready to ride with their heads out the window and their paws on the trash bags.