When the snow started yesterday afternoon, the girls were hanging out in a covered spot near the shed. Initially, they were making little forays out into the yard to peck and scratch, but as the storm started to get worse they hunkered down. After checking on them intermittently for a few hours, it became clear they were not going to head back to their warm, dry coop anytime soon.
I bundled-bundled-and-booted-up, thinking maybe a treat would encourage them to make their way inside. They were clearly dubious about following me out into the snow, but the sound of some scratch in the bottom of their feed scoop got them to move along a few feet.
Then, in the middle of the garden, the ducks just stopped. Laid down. A very theatrical, "We can go no further!" And seeing the halt in progress, the chickens fled back to the shelter of the shed awning.
The ducks and Tori were ultimately talked out of their dramatics with waving arms and our little herding stick. (The handle of an old shovel--very useful for directing poultry to move the way you want them to go.) But Ingrid and Lani were having nothing of it. No amount of cajoling or threatening could make them go out into that awful snow again.
Well, what was there to do? With a darkly muttered, "spoiled little..." and a raised eyebrow, I scooped them both up--one under one arm, one under the other--and ferried their highnesses across the snow.
Although they may be spoiled, in fairness, I have to mention that the two princesses are the only ones laying right now. So, if that's what it takes to get fresh eggs....