Swimming chickens

Ruby, the odd bird

I watched our chicken, Ruby, forge the creek out back today. Like apparently most people, I had no idea that chickens could swim. As it turns out, they can, and unlike us, don't even need a lesson.

Ruby was compelled toward the creek by Lucy, my sister-in-law's dog, who was in hot puppy pursuit. Fortunately, everyone survived, though I was a bit worse for the wear from cuddling the wet, stinky bird as I ferried her back to shore. She didn't seem the least bit ruffled.

Our little menagerie has taken some hits recently. First, I dried up a heap of compost worms that I was caretaking in our bathroom. Now, they look like these things:

Then, a fox got two of our chickens, and a few weeks ago, two little kids snuck onto our bridge and hooked Wally, Chris' 'pet' trout, from his lay.

Our neighbor, Tim, an old friend of Chris' and fellow trout bum, had called in an attempt to warn him of the marauding 11-year-old killers, but didn't catch him in time. Chris heard the kids on the bridge and raced over, catching them just as they pulled Wally out of the water.


"Why aren't you fishing at your spot on the creek?" he asked the boys.

"Because we already caught all the fish there and killed them."

Nice.


"I was so looking forward to feeding Wally grasshoppers and other bugs all summer long," Chris lamented as he came to tell me the news. "I'm really upset. Can you tell me that you're sorry for my loss?"


I so am.