The rooster found his way to the man cave.

So as I sit here sipping some yummy Red Velvet Cupcake wine (thanks Amy), watching Dov hang a ceiling fan over the wood stove, I decided to blog.  Probably not the wisest idea since wine and blogging seldom mix.  Anything written after two glasses must remain in draft form till sobriety has come round'. 

But something funny happened.  Well...funny if you are a redneck wood dweller like myself.

Tonight, when the kids were still awake and Dov had just started this little ceiling fan project, there were lots of trips to the garage to gather supplies for this obviously laboursome task.  Around the hundredth trip Dov calls for me.  I walk out to the garage (which is attached to the kitchen) and he is standing at his work bench.  "Do you hear that?"  "Um, no." "I have been out here a couple of times and I keep hearing something..." he says.  I look up to find...

Our rooster.  Obviously the hens have had enough of his shit.  He was huddled up in man town with Dov's tools and nude poster.  AND NOT BUDGING.  It took a half hour and lots of crashing tools to get him back in that coop.  Even then he went kicking and screaming, refusing to look at the girls who were already tucked in tight for the night.

Don't look at me.

At last check he was sitting on the floor of the chicken coop while the girls are perched on the highest roosting box.  Clucking away while he sulks...so typical.  Just had to share that little story...have a great weekend all!