Malcolm T. Liepke

 

 

Last summer, two of my chickens turned a thriving ant hill into a lifeless crater. It wasn’t a big ant hill and it isn’t a deep crater. I’d guess it’s about 16 inches across. It started at about eight inches above ground level, quirming with industrious little black ants, and ended at eight inches underground with the industrious black ants in the mosh pit of an industrious chicken’s craw. The two chicks, whenever I let them run around the yard, make a beeline for the crater and give themselves a dirt bath in it. Like somekind of bathing caricature, they roll around, splash dirt out in every direction and make sure they get under their armpits. You can sort of see their heads poking up every once in a while, like Romans (with the red brush helmet) in a foxhole. It’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Yeah, I might have mentioned it before and I will probably mention it again. Happy critters are about the best thing going.

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