First of all, it’s not what you think.
I haven’t lost my chicken-loving marbles. I haven’t “done in” my Girls. I still coddle and coo at them. I still baby the Babies. And, I still spend an inordinate amount of time in the Chicken Love shack. O.K., so maybe I have lost my marbles, but I have lots of poultry-pampering company. (Don’t forget: Coming soon to a coop near you!)
No, the “roasting chicken” of which I speak refers to the sunbathing beauties pictured above. Yesterday afternoon, after our morning fog lifted to reveal a beautiful, warm Texas spring day, The Girls (evidently) decided the back porch was the perfect location to catch a few rays. Watching from the window, it appeared to be a very luxurious experience with a very distinct process:
1. Select site. This requires close inspection of the sunbathing surface. Clear away all unsuspecting ants and particles of dirt. A few quick scratches assures acceptable cleanliness.
2. Lower body onto warm, prepared surface.
3. Thrash about, throwing imaginary dust in the air. This action will alarm all observers, who will fear you are having a seizure. However, this action assures that no one will dare approach you, thus ruining your nirvana.
4. Stretch out uppermost leg and wing in order to absorb as much warmth as possible. Regardless of looking as if you’ve been stricken with rigor mortis, the resulting effect is unsurpassed.
5. Relax. Drift. Cook. Sleep with one eye open. Hawks and paparazzi are everywhere.
6. Depending on temperature, bake until done on exposed side, then flip. Repeat process.
7. After undetermined amount of time, and for no apparent reason, rise from baking….er, bathing surface. Ruffle, preen and shake feathers.
8. Renewed and refreshed, assume the business of being a chicken.