Hush Little Chicky Don't Say A Word
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Tonight’s bedtime routine was supposed to be simple.
A quick goodnight.
A gentle door check.
A peaceful end to the day.
The chickens:
“HAHAHAHA. No.”
I stepped into the run and instantly triggered a full‑scale feathered uprising.
Wings everywhere.
Chickens sprinting like they were late for a concert.
And Opal - my sweet, chaotic Opal - launched onto my back, scaled me like a rock wall, and was on my shoulder staring into my soul before I even processed what was happening. Then she went straight for my ponytail like she was rappelling down a cliff.
So I stepped out of the run to let them calm down…
And that’s when the auto‑door timer betrayed us all and slammed shut like the dramatic diva it is.
Which meant I had to go BACK in, herd six outraged chickens into a corner like I was wrangling tiny feathered criminals, and lift them one by one into the coop while they squawked in protest like I was ruining their night out.
Door closed.
Peace restored.
My dignity questionable.
Final score: Girls 1, Mom 0.