February 23, 2014 – Violet sent me a text message this afternoon from her temporary home in the basement. Mom had just knocked over a container of mealworms leaving a bounty of the freeze-dried delights strewn all over the concrete floor. They were free for the taking to anyone who could get there before Mom swept them up into the dustpan. That’s all I needed to hear! I ran toward the coop door, eager to grab Sawyer from the run before heading over to the garage. That was the plan anyway. I ended up slipping in a pile of poo that was splat all over the center of the threshold. I fell and whacked my head on the door frame before dropping into a heap of pine shavings.
Once the initial daze wore off, I was livid. “Who, in their right mind, poops on top of the threshold?!”
Sawyer and Wilma gathered over my stunned and battered body.
“It’s a chicken house,” Wilma replied dryly. “Chickens poo where chickens poo.” Right then and there I knew that she was the culprit.
“It’s not right!” I declared emphatically leaning on my elbows. “What kind of welcome mat is that?! Please… come into our home. Don’t mind the poop in the doorway. It’s a good luck charm. Can’t we hang a horseshoe over the door like normal dwellers?!”
“I think she has the FEVER,” I heard Wilma mumble. “Better toss her outside before it spreads to the rest of us.”
The next thing I knew, I was being propped up against the wall of the run by Waffles and Betty, while Hattie tossed a cold compress over my head.
“Hope you feel better soon, Hap!” Waffles said as the trio walked away. “Let us know if you need anything.”
Twenty minutes later, Sawyer stopped by to see how I was faring. She too, had received a text from Violet and made it to the garage in time. Without me.
“I thought this might cheer you up,” she said, opening her wing to reveal a handful of mealworms. I scoffed them up in a flash. Then, she helped me back into the coop where I washed up and drank my fill of fresh water before grabbing the quilt and seeking refuge in my nest box.
Violet texted a follow-up note later in the day. She wanted to know what happened. I told her I’d be by tomorrow morning to fill her in. To do so, I’ll have to pass over the same threshold that Wilma plopped on. Thankfully, Mom cleaned everything, so there’s no trace of the Queen’s precious gem. Just in case, I’m planning to wear boots when I hop through that door – and maybe a hazmat suit!