It turns out I was needlessly worried that Rupert the Rooster would lead the girls astray. Lissa encouraged me to let them all out, assuring me that they would come in at dusk. They do!
Here, they are racing towards me, expecting bread crusts or some other wonderful treat. It's true, they are spoiled. Their favorite snack is pancakes, which they encourage me to hold while they gulp them down.
Buffy still gives Rupert a wide berth, but the entire flock of four are seen here and there, enjoying their freedom.
Beau doesn't look twice at them, and Sandy has learned they are not to be bothered. Lissa says that a rooster will fight off a critter threatening his girls. Rupert does flap his wings and look menacing.
The ground under the apple tree has been downright cultivated by the chickens. Overwintering insects there will not be resuming their destructive little lives in springtime.
On drizzly days, the chickens' feathers repel the rain, except for the rooster, who looks kind of scrawny about the neck when wet.
On bitterly cold or snowy days, I keep them inside, but otherwise they are free to roam. I may have to fence off some of the flower beds when the daffodils and Siberian Irises come up, but will leave their dust bath spot.
In exchange for their freedom, the hens are giving me a few eggs weekly, which is pretty good for this time of year.
The added benefit was the hens regained their back feathers, missing all summer. With something else to do besides service them, Rupert turned his attention to scratching up fallen leaves. It's good for a guy to have a hobby, I always say.
