My chickens are...well...chicken

I raise chickens.

I guess raise might be a strong word for how this is has gone so far.  The story is as follows: I bought a handful of chickens, I feed them, and they didn't die yet.  Whatever word you use to describe that sequence of events, go with it.

Anyway,  we've had our chickens for nearly six months and I feel like we've gotten to know them pretty well.  They each have their own unique personality and that's fun.  We have a couple of neighbor kids who are so enamored with them that they sometimes come over to hold members of our flock rather than play with our children (it's sort of funny, actually).

Our feathered ladies always get excited when we come out to see them because they know that we often bring them treats (like mealworms...yummy!!).

Yesterday, my husband cut up a cantaloupe.  I have heard that chickens LOVE melons and will pick all the leftover fruit off the rind until all that is left is the thick skin (and apparently, some of them also peck off bits of the rind to eat...which is what our dog does -- eat the whole thing, rind and all).

So, I thought I'd bring them a treat.  I already know they like treats (well, honestly, who doesn't).

I spread the melon rinds around the floor of their coop so everyone could get some nibbles in without having to argue over the food...which happens.

And that's when I learned that my chickens are terrified of melon rinds.

Yup, all five of them high tailed it up into their second story dwelling and none of them would come down.

Daisy, most definitely the leader of the group and the one who usually explores new things, would venture onto the ramp, but even she wouldn't go near these vile, supposed "treats."

The girls stayed up in their roost for HOURS.

But I wasn't going to budge.  These ladies were going to learn that cantaloupe is not lethal (generally speaking...I'm sure there's a story somewhere of death by cantaloupe).

And eventually, they must have gotten tired of each other because they cautiously wandered downstairs (Daisy went first).  They were extremely careful to walk around the orange, fruity, invaders (and Devorah threw a squawking tantrum when her toe touched one of them -- no kidding -- diva).  They kicked around the straw on the floor to hide the rinds and then everything was back to normal.

Our dog snuck in and ate the rinds later that day when we let the chickens out to wander the yard

Oh, the adventures of a suburban chicken owner.

On a related note, one of our ladies has recently started laying eggs and I'm sure the others will follow suit very soon.  My kids are still totally enamored with the fun of looking for eggs every day...and if I'm honest, so am I.

Our first ever home grown (??) egg in the awesome egg basket Josh bought for me on our trip to Chicago this summer.  Yup, my egg basket is imported all the way from Illinois.  That's fancy!