I learned the word “redundant” on a picnic table at the Mayo Clinic while eating lunch with my dad. He told me that my mom, who had just had her second brain surgery, had “squashed squash” for lunch and he asked me if I thought that was redundant.

Last night I found myself pondering the redundancy concept once again, only this time I wondered if “stupid chickens” was redundant. Sigh. I have significant evidence to support my theory that yes, it’s redundant indeed.

About six weeks ago, I tucked six day-old chicks under Isabella, a hen who had been broody since I’m not even sure when. She took to the chicks as though they were her own, the only problem that arose was when it was time to roost, Izzy jumped back up in the nesting box she had called home for weeks on end and the littles couldn’t get up there. It took a few nights of me wrangling chicks in the near-dark to get them all to at least go inside the coop with the other girls. They eventually made a nice little corner for themselves and Izzy settled in with all six tucked under her wings.

Admittedly, since the repeated success of that relocation, I haven’t checked on the girls at night very much. Edith Ann has never gone into the coop to roost, which is a whole ‘nother story, but she is broody and rather upset about being deterred from it, and so I just leave her in the nesting box where she seems happiest. As the weeks have gone by, Izzy has continued to care for the chicks, but April has eagerly stepped in as the overbearing, overprotective Aunt, keeping a somewhat close eye on them and all but taking over the motherly role. It’s been entertaining, to say the least.

On my list of to-dos, was to add another roosting bar to the coop. The addition of six bumped my chicken math total to sixteen and while The Sky is Falling Inn has multiple roosting options, I know that this is where the cliques duke it out the most and so I wanted plenty of space for all the girls with little room for bickering. So, yesterday I cut some boards and put up a new roosting bar, swearing only a few times as I went, but feeling rather chuffed when it was completed.

Around 11:30 last night, I decided to go out if any of the flock had chosen the new roost for their sleeping perch. I took Trudy along for the adventure and trooped out with my flashlight to hopefully admire my own handiwork and the imagined excitement of my feathered friends. Peeking in the window of The Inn, I was delighted to see two girls up on the new roost, but upon opening the door, I realized that my excitement would have to wait, as the chicken math didn’t math and I knew I was short several girls. I shut the door and went around to the run.

And here is where I found my stupid chickens. Edith Ann was in her broody box, as usual, which wasn’t surprising. What was a bit alarming, however was that April was up in her own nesting box, as were all six of my half-grown chicks. To say there wasn’t really room for seven chickens, whether half-grown or not, is an understatement. But there they all were, crammed in there together as though it was below freezing outside, the innkeeper had turned them away and this stable was the only shelter available.

Thus began the rodeo. To my advantage, chickens don’t see well in the dark, so I hit the button to open the little coop door and then set my light so that only a faint glow remained in the run. One by one, I grabbed a chick and shoo’ed her into the coop. Aunt April immediately started her motherly clucking, quite concerned about this abduction of her charges. I picked her up and pushed her into the coop as well, but she did the quick math apparently and realized that only half of her brood was in the coop, so she turned right around and came back out. Meanwhile, the other three little ones had leaped out of the nesting box and were scurrying around the run. I was now rather frantically trying to shoo chicks back into the coop just about as fast as they were running back out. All the while, the automatic door, knowing the sun has long since set, keeps trying to close. Rodeo indeed.

I finally, exhaustively, got all six chicks and Auntie April in the coop. I even threw Edith Ann in just for giggles. I quickly shut the door and then ran out of the run and into the coop to provide just enough light that they might get on a roosting bar. Any roosting bar. I wasn’t particular at this point.

Aunt April had already jumped up next to Izzy, and was doing what she considered to be her civic duty – clucking to the littles to let them know where she was and where they needed to be. She did not, however, show them how to get there. Two littles, Louise and Eleanor, figured it out quickly enough and tucked themselves right under Izzy and called it a night. I watched as the others jumped up on the step stool and tried to figure out how to launch themselves onto the nearby roost. I knew they were capable, they get up on such things in the run, but the pressure was on and everyone was watching and so it took some time.

While all of this is going on, Edith Ann is rather frantic. Still convinced she is a chick herself (she’s somewhat of an orphan and has a complex to go with it) she is trying desperately to tuck herself under any chicken that will have her. Despite her being the only bantam in the flock, no one is really eager to have this half-sized chicken up under the feathers on this balmy evening, and so there is much shuffling and clucking going on on this end of the roost. I scooped Edith up, much to her dismay and set her up on the new bar, where she only had Molly and Nora to contend with.

It took about fifteen minutes for five of the six littles to get up on the roost and tucked under Mom or Auntie. Vivian was the sole hold out. She kept running to the door, trying to escape, but thankfully it was shut tight with no hopes of opening until dawn. I couldn’t get near Vivie, even if I wanted to, as it would ruffle too many hens and Lord knows what a mess I’d make of the semi-calm I had going for me. I kept dimming the flashlight more and more, trying to convince Vivie there was some urgency to her choosing a spot. She finally hopped up on the step stool and launched herself to the roosting bar (that was no more than a foot away) but she overshot it and ended up about where she started.

Ten minutes later, with Trudy impatiently waiting outside the coop door and Edith Ann finally contentedly tucked under the most inhospitable hen that I have (Molly), Vivian made the leap successfully and I quickly shut off the light, stepped outside and closed the door.

Stupid. Hens.

If anyone is interested, I am sure this little circus will happen again this evening, right after dark falls. Pull up a chair and enjoy the show!