Never apply logic to the doings of chickens.

Selma has been living in Landlady’s portable coop, which Ian helped me move into the Fortress of Attitude. It’s a two-story affair, with a little “yard” on the bottom and a coop with nesting box above. It’s also – well, portable, which means it’s lightly-built, which means it’s flimsy. Somehow or other the ramp to the second story fell off.

Selma doesn’t really seem to need the ramp. But the coop is borrowed, so I figured I’d better fix it.

Of course that meant letting Selma out. But I’d been wondering about that anyway: She’s now had a couple of weeks to get used to the four new pullets, and almost as long with #7 the thoroughly-PTSD’d Brahma. Would she get along with them? Or would she go right back to her old tricks?

I’ll take Curtain Number Two, Monty.

So yeah, she immediately started trying to punk the pullets. But they’re not baby barely-bigger-than-chicks anymore, and while they squawked and ran away they didn’t really freak out so I figured the situation would hold while I crawled under the portable coop and fixed the ramp.

Which I had just begun to do when Selma discovered the fun of chasing #7 around the Fortress. Unlike the pullets, #7 would freak out when chased. Having found a suitable target, Selma instantly forgot the pullets even existed.

Look, I’m here under the coop, lying in six inches of rotting straw and dry chicken shit with a mouthful of wood screws. I don’t need this right now. And maybe it was because I was lying down: #7, who has never seen me as anything but a threat to her existence, apparently decided I was the lesser evil. Running full-tilt with Selma an instant behind her, #7 jumped up on me and crouched.

Selma skidded to a halt. #7 had played a card she clearly didn’t expect. Would the horrible Man-Thing actually defend her? I flapped a hand at Selma, who about jumped out of her skin: He will! Horrors! Run away!

This situation held until I almost had the ramp screwed into place, then #7 made a mighty leap for the main coop’s upper door. The pullets were already forted up in there, and Selma spent her remaining minutes of freedom patrolling the yard outside it. This gave me time to get the portable down from where I’d tilted it against the fence, and properly shoved back into the corner.

She didn’t give me any hassle about being caught and dropped unceremoniously back inside. In fact she seemed almost relieved about it. Settled right back down, in any case.

I have to cut her a little slack because she’s the only one laying eggs right now. Whether I’ll be prepared to put up with this once the pullets come on line remains to be seen.