Allen Street Al poked his head out from under our deck this morning and beat a hasty retreat back into the hole he maintains next to my wood pile after seeing his shadow on the glistening snow field in my backyard.
Interviewed from deep within his digs, Al reported that it was less about having seen his shadow than it was about there being nothing to eat out there.
"When are you going to start feeding the chickens outdoors again?" he asked.
Over the years, Al has been known for his perseverence in his pursuit of the cracked corn served up in Chicken Land. No matter what we do, he keeps tunneling under the fence. The only success we had in deterring him was a couple times when Rocky the Barred Rock went after him.
"See you in six weeks," he yawned. "I'm going back to sleep."
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