“What was that?” she asked.
“The chickens. There’s probably something in the woods that’s got them worked up.”
“Should we go check?”
I shrugged. “If you want to. They’re only out in their run, which is pretty tight. I don’t want predators eating my chickens any more than the chickens want to be eaten. They should probably be shut in for the night, though.”
“Let’s do that, then. So they feel safer. Besides, that sounds like a fruitless exercise one-handed and in a boot.” She gestured to my injuries. “Do you do it every night?”
I nodded, staying where I was. “It takes a little longer, but I manage. You don’t need to help. I’ll be fine to do it later.”
“Toren.” She crossed her arms and gave me that look I was starting to know well. The one that said she’d made up her mind, and I was wasting my breath. “You clomp along like a pirate with a peg leg, and you’ve got one usable hand. I’ve closed up a chicken coop exactly never, but I can follow directions.” She tipped her head toward the door. “Let’s do this.”
I should have argued harder. Made a little small talk, then sent her on her way.
Instead, I sighed and limped toward the door.
She followed me outside, and we made our way across the yard.
“The coop’s the small door on the side of the barn,” I said, pointing. “The hens usually go in on their own once it’s dark enough, but this time of year they get confused. We’ll have to herd the slow ones, which is most of them. They’re not thebrightest crayons in the box.” I stepped toward the gate to open it, but she batted my hands away.
“You stay out there and supervise. I can handle this.”
I chuckled. Her confidence was admirable, but she’d clearly never tried to herd a chicken through a doorway not much bigger than itself. “You take the far side. I’ll stand over here and make sure they go that way.” I pointed to the barn.
She opened the gate and stepped in. “Are you sure? If you can do it one-handed, I can probably handle it. You should take it easy.”
“I’m sure. It’ll go faster with both of us.” Though I could probably get a good laugh if I let her do it alone. Chickens have opinions. Strong ones. If they don’t want to do something, they won’t.
True to form, they didn’t want to cooperate.
The first group of hens scattered. Then the second. Lana said something I couldn’t quite hear and changed tactics, trying to come at them from the side, and that worked right up until she got between the big red hen, Eloise, and the coop door.
Eloise did not care for that. Squawking with each step, she strutted toward Lana, her wings out.
“Okay,” Lana said, backing up a step. “Okay, you’re a big girl, aren’t you? I’m a friend. I’m just trying to put you up so—hey. Hey!”
Eloise decided enough was enough of this new human trying to force her anywhere and came at Lana’s ankles in a flurry of feathers and spite. With a yelp, Lana jumped back as the chicken made contact.
Having made her point, Eloise strutted up the short ramp and into the coop like it had been her plan all along.
I bit down on a laugh, but a soft chuckle escaped anyway.
Lana spun around, eyes wide with indignation. “Are you laughing at me? Did you see what she did? That bird is amenace.” Glancing down, she lifted the edge of her pant leg and winced. “Look! She drew blood.” Frowning fiercely, she looked up at me. “She actually drew blood. I was backing off when she pecked me—surrendering to her ire. Your chicken is a war criminal.”
“Her name’s Eloise.” I rolled my lips in to hold back another laugh as her brows slammed together.
“You named the war criminal?”
“She’s the best layer I’ve got.” I wandered closer, still grinning, and made my way to the corner, where the last two hens clucked and pecked at the ground. “Here. They go in easier if you don’t chase them. Just walk behind them slow. Let them think it’s their idea.”
She huffed. “You could have mentioned that before.”
It took another few minutes, but between the two of us we got the last two hens shut in. I showed her the latch, and she worked it home.
“There.” She dusted her hands. “Coop secured. No thanks to Eloise. If you ever decide to eat her, I want to come over for dinner.”
She had a smudge of dirt on her jaw and a piece of straw caught in her ponytail, and she was standing close enough that I could smell whatever strawberry thing she used in her hair.
