“Yes, they do. Fromscratch, Dad! Because chickens like to scratch around. Kenny said so.” Cooper howled the loudest at his own joke.
Owen shook his head at the twins. “Where’d you hear these jokes?” They sounded rehearsed to him, as if they’d just finished memorizing them.
His sons snuck peeks at their new nanny. “It’s a secret,” Cooper informed him loftily.
“Oh, really? I assumed you were justwingingit,” he joked, not sure if they understood what a pun was. Halle’s answering snicker told him that shedidknow, which inspired him to slip in one more zinger before quitting. “I’ve got one for you guys.” He winked at Halle.
Her eyes widened merrily.
He pretended to count on his fingers. “What do you call a chicken that’s good with numbers?”
“Smart,” Ryder said quickly.
“Not a birdbrain,” Cooper corrected, looking enormously proud of his guess.
“True.” Owen leaned closer to give him a high five. “It would also make her a good mathema-chicken!”
Cooper blinked at him, clearly not getting the concept of a pun. “I like my answer better.”
“I do, too.” Owen tried to ruffle his hair, but he was quicker than his brother. Unfortunately, his frenzied ducking movement nearly unseated him.
Fortunately, Halle’s hand shot out to help him maintain his balance atop the stool.
Owen gave her a grateful look, feeling like she’d earned every penny he’d yet to pay her right then and there. Their gazes locked and held, and he found himself in no hurry to look away from her.
Her lake-blue eyes were still red-rimmed, but she was doing a great job of holding up her end of their silly, non-adult dinner conversation. She was a good fit, too, at least from where he was standing. He suspected her nurturing presence was keeping his sons from missing their aunt too badly.
She broke eye contact first. “Does anyone want to visit the chickens with me?”
“Me, me, me, meeeee!” His sons sang out the words, waving their arms wildly in the air.
Owen decided to join them. They strolled outside and walked to the part of the farm that Garrett Farm was most famous for—its egg-producing hens.
“They’re free-range chickens,” Halle explained, “which is why you see them foraging around outside. They love eating green things and bugs.”
“Cool!” Cooper’s face turned eagerly up to hers. “I ate a bug once.”
She chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?” Then she got back to playing tour guide, pointing out the tall fences made of chicken wire that wrapped around and across the tops of the pens. “As you can see, the chickens aren’t allowed to wander off. Keeping them inside these beautiful grassy chicken yards helps protect them from predators like hawks and foxes.” She made a growling sound to imitate a fox.
The twins looked impressed.
“These are the breeders.” She led them through a gate into the biggest chicken pen. Dozens of Rhode Island Reds were trotting around, fluttering their wings, and scratching for bugs in the dirt. “We keep about one rooster in the pen for every five hens. The hens don’t need roosters around to lay eggs, but they do need roosters around to lay eggs that hatch into chicks.” She pointed at the next pen to their right.
On the other side of the fence, downy little chicks ran in fuzzy yellow herds, making the boys squeal with wonder and beg to hold one. She led them through another gate to where the chicks were located, picked up one of the soft little chicks, and held it out to the boys. “Who wants to go first?”
Owen started to caution the boys to be careful, but it turned out to be unnecessary. They took turns cuddling the squirming little chicken with a gentleness he hadn’t realized they were capable of.
“Wow!” Halle heaped praise on them. “You’re a natural at this. Both of you.” She pretended to interpret what the chicks were saying to each other, which stirred another round of merriment.
They moved into the pen of egg-laying hens next, where she taught the boys how to retrieve the eggs from the egg boxes and oh-so-gently place them inside cartons.
There were four large coops in all—two red ones and two white ones. The long, adjoining pens attached to each one allowed the flocks to roam in a mostly natural habitat. It was a well-designed setup with feed boxes, heat lamps, shelves to perch on, and more.
A short walk from the chicken yard brought them to a rustic cabin. “Jensen and Kenny Carter live here,” Halle told the boys. “They’re the primary caretakers of the chickens, so it makes sense to live nearby.”
Kenny materialized on the front porch of the cabin. He waved excitedly at the boys. “Hi, Ryder! Hi, Coop! What are you doing all the way out here?”
“Playing with the chickens,” Ryder said happily.
