Migration

Still gawky from their recent growth spurt, my young chickens spent their days scratching for bugs, dust bathing, and crowing. One chick, with much bigger life goals, saw opportunity in the open kitchen door. He strided past the kitchen, through the dining room to the staircase, where, once scaled, he walked the length of the hallway into Sarah’s room. Marking the end of this great migration, he streaked Sarah’s room in his bird poop - across the mirror, down the walls, covering the floor. As horrific as this scene was, I have never been quite as impressed by a bird.