The chickens seem to be coping with the sudden cold snap better than most of the people passing through. Born in August, they have yet to experience the joy of watching the garden come to life, the bugs start to crawl, the sun warming the grass after months of damp and cold. They are happy to scoot around the yard, feathers still full of winter fluff, while their keepers stare wistfully at the shaded patches of snow, cautiously hopeful that a new season is a week or two away.
I think this is so much is genetic; they seem to know how to do the searching, etc. without having a "mom"
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