The General Humor Thread

The Rooftop Rebellion of the Feathered Fools.
I swear on my last cup of evening coffee, my chickens have joined some sort of late-night daredevil club. Every night around dusk, while sensible hens tuck themselves neatly into their coops like church ladies settling into pews, mine gather like a gang of outlaws plotting a jailbreak.
They flap, they squawk, they leap … and somehow, every one of those feathery lunatics ends up roosting on top of the ten-foot chicken run. Not inside it. ON TOP….. TEN FEET UP…sitting like they’re waiting for a sunrise parade or auditioning for a chicken version of Mission: Impossible.
I stand there, flashlight in hand, pleading reason to a flock that has none.
“Y’all do realize,” I say, “that’s the open sky. That’s owl and hawk country.”
But no… It’s like telling GRANDkids it’s time to turn off video games. They just blink down at me, unbothered, as if I were some low-ranking farm intern interrupting their board meeting. I swear I could hear one of them whisper, “He’s just jealous ‘cause we have the view.”
Now, I don’t know what’s running through their little bird brains … maybe they think the owls have gone vegan, or maybe they’re trying to impress the neighbor’s rooster. Either way, it’s like watching toddlers refuse bedtime while perched on a cliff.
So every night becomes a rescue mission. Picture me, in my pajama pants, a step ladder wobbling in the moonlight, entertaining my wife, daughter, son-in-law and half a dozen GRANDkids, (I swear I think they all helped plan this insurrection) muttering prayers that no one drives by to see a grown man arguing with airborne poultry. One by one, I scoop them off their lofty thrones and stuff them back into safety like a tired father herding teenagers after curfew.
And as I close the coop door, I can almost hear them plotting their next rebellion.
Because make no mistake — those hens aren’t scared of owls, hawks or me. They’re like teenagers scared of conformity.
Some folks raise chickens. I, apparently, raise feathered philosophers with a death wish.

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Nathan said:
The Rooftop Rebellion of the Feathered Fools.
I swear on my last cup of evening coffee, my chickens have joined some sort of late-night daredevil club. Every night around dusk, while sensible hens tuck themselves neatly into their coops like church ladies settling into pews, mine gather like a gang of outlaws plotting a jailbreak.
They flap, they squawk, they leap … and somehow, every one of those feathery lunatics ends up roosting on top of the ten-foot chicken run. Not inside it. ON TOP….. TEN FEET UP…sitting like they’re waiting for a sunrise parade or auditioning for a chicken version of Mission: Impossible.
I stand there, flashlight in hand, pleading reason to a flock that has none.
“Y’all do realize,” I say, “that’s the open sky. That’s owl and hawk country.”
But no… It’s like telling GRANDkids it’s time to turn off video games. They just blink down at me, unbothered, as if I were some low-ranking farm intern interrupting their board meeting. I swear I could hear one of them whisper, “He’s just jealous ‘cause we have the view.”
Now, I don’t know what’s running through their little bird brains … maybe they think the owls have gone vegan, or maybe they’re trying to impress the neighbor’s rooster. Either way, it’s like watching toddlers refuse bedtime while perched on a cliff.
So every night becomes a rescue mission. Picture me, in my pajama pants, a step ladder wobbling in the moonlight, entertaining my wife, daughter, son-in-law and half a dozen GRANDkids, (I swear I think they all helped plan this insurrection) muttering prayers that no one drives by to see a grown man arguing with airborne poultry. One by one, I scoop them off their lofty thrones and stuff them back into safety like a tired father herding teenagers after curfew.
And as I close the coop door, I can almost hear them plotting their next rebellion.
Because make no mistake — those hens aren’t scared of owls, hawks or me. They’re like teenagers scared of conformity.
Some folks raise chickens. I, apparently, raise feathered philosophers with a death wish.

View attachment 463802
Click to expand...
Perhaps they were feeling all cooped up and were just trying to wing it!
 
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