I confess to being borderline agoraphobic, and one thing the chickens have done for me is to make me come outside and I have had a summer like I haven't had in the majority of my adult life. Friday night was wonderful: hotter than shit, and everything felt so dry - because it was so dry. So, I soaked portions of it with the sprinkler and I think it forced little buggy things up through the soil, which also made it sexy for the chickens. I realize as I meet more 'chicken people' that the odds of finding another human on the planet that is as crazy as I am about them is virtually nil. I met the woman who'd offered me the rooster: I went to her house to see her set up. Basically, she's using adjacent land, about 3/4 of an acre, to free range about 14 chickens. They're all wild and she looked serenely on and said she didn't mind if some of them were killed, but the ones she'd hand raised from chicks, well, she might mind that. Well, there's hope for you yet, I said, and our visit got a little chilly. I think we were mutually unimpressed with the other. Sammy wanted on the other side of the gate.
We finally got some rain (and hailstones and thunder!).
I finished the painting of one woman's dead cat (and about to embark on another one, but this time it won't be free).