They had been socialized (and by "socialized" I mean cuddled, sang to, fed yogurt from a spoon, and a host of other things 99% of the world's chickens have never experienced) and successfully "tamed" by my young children.
They had been given names, given a house, and given free reign of the backyard.
Yes folks, it was a good time to be a chicken.
I was about to go on my first solo tour, and take along my girls (uh, my human girls that is - the road is no place for a hen) and we would be gone for 6 weeks, leaving the chicks home with my husband.
My husband who was not *totally* on board with the idea of chickens when we got them.
My husband who possibly, maybe, didn't actually *know* we were getting chickens until I called him on my way to the Tractor Supply.
The kids gave each chicken a hug and a salmonella spiked kiss, told them to be good chickens an that they'd be missed and thought of often and we hopped into the rental car and zoomed off to California.
During this time we got updates from Josh.
The chickens were doing well, and they were getting bigger.
Now Geneveive was crowing so we had a 2nd rooster to re-home....
And despite ALL my begging and pleading Josh for some reason would not stick any of them in front of the computer during our video chats.
(And I really did beg...and plead... a LOT.)
So the girls and I finished up our vacation in Cali where the temps were in the 70s and the smell of the sea was in the air, and back home...in 90+ degree and humid Nashville, Josh had a GREAT opportunity to bond with my our chickens.
As we rolled into our driveway at the end of August, the kids weren't even interested in going inside. First stop. Backyard.
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