The chickens have developed Fall pattern baldness. And they're not happy about it. In this typical Portland fall weater (gray, damp, 40's), they sit huddled on the back steps waiting like vampires for an invitation over the threshold. No luck there, but leftover pasta (sans garlic) will temporarily stay the baleful glares.
About a month ago, as the first leaves started to turn, Sol started losing her feathers. First a little neck tuft here, a wing feather there. Finally I woke up one morning and all her tail feathers were askew. By that evening when I got home, only a little bald nubbin remained. Slowly she's grown her feathers back, and is now fully fledged again. But I returned home today to find Ruby and Luna a homely, moth-eaten pair of ladies. And Minerva with a suspiciously windblown look to her hinder.
The new feathers are still cocooned in their covers, waiting for each girl to sit at her barnyard vanity and preen herself back to beauty and warmth. If Sol is any indication, by Christmas everyone should be cozily wrapped in her new outfit.
