They Know

The girls are aware that something is up. They watch me walking back and forth to the garage with alert postures, and low chuntering. They have seen me carrying what looks suspiciously like their treat bowl, and yet they have recieved no treats in it. Most damning of all, they have heard the peeps.

Yesterday, I left the garage door open while I cleaned out the unbelievably messy chicks. Catching movement from the corner of my eye, I turned to find the magnificent Mabel standing in the doorway, the sunlight behind her giving off a 'gunslinger at the saloon'-type vibe. The peeps were, well, peeping. Mabel had her head cocked at an angle, listening to the alien chook chatter. Then she eyeballed me, turned around on the step, and stalked off in disgust, her ample behind swinging regally. Once back on the lawn, she called a flock meeting. I can only imagine what was said, but it looked fairly peaceful.

The peeps are growing at a truly astonishing rate. They have got the hang of eating, drinking, scratching about and even play fighting. They seem to think that each others' faces need a damn good pecking at random opportunities, and that falling asleep while standing up and then keeling over is perfectly acceptable. All in all, they are as comical and individual as their larger counterparts.

For anyone still playing the feather sexing game, here are a few more shots:

Chick 1, the first to hatch.

Chick 2, the assumed lavender.

Chick 3, the smallest of the three.

And some other pics, just because they're so cute:

Chick 2 is the biggest.

Chick 3 is the teeniest, and most vocal.

I am waiting for any sign of frizzling, but have yet to see any. I have my fingers crossed.