Anyone have a partially-used, fully-functioning, battle-tested hurricane chicken evacuation plan they’re willing to part with? You know … a chicken plan. Like what you do with your chickens should a big blowing tropical behemoth show up on your door step. Because I’m a bit stumped. And the Thompson motto (borrowed from the Army Rangers) is simple: Never leave a man … or critter … behind. Damn mottos! It complicates things. These chickens complicate things! They’re a little over 8 weeks old — long-past the chick stage. Their combs are coming in, and they roam the yard eating bugs and grubs and hamburgers. (Hamburgers grow wild in my backyard.)
Failing the worm test. Now on to a house with chickens
So we did the test. The worm test. Vermicomposting worms. The kind that eat table scraps and leftover vegetable bits and human flesh. (No, I’m making that last part up.) My wife said: “If we can keep worms alive then it will be a great test for how we’ll do with chickens.” Chickens have been her dream for years. Laying hens. Big, fluffy fowl that you wear on your shoulder like a parrot. Who guard your house while furnishing you with eggs. Who bring love and joy and eat everything in your yard, down to the bricks, which they would also eat if only they had sledgehammers.