I cooked rice for my hens today, and brought them leftover rolls last night. A friend brought me her kitchen scraps and I give them extra corn. But the reality is, it's a hard day to be a chicken. Even when I let them out of the coop they look at me askance. 

"Walk on the snow with bare feet? No thanks." When we take the Silkie family outside for fresh air the chicks step on my boot toes, like I did when my father taught me to dance. Then they hop back up the stairs to the house.

I check the weather app multiple times each day, wondering when it will stop freezing at night. There is one hovering around zero next week that has me anxious. There are two halves of the dormitories, because we did not know when we started that we would be so blessed as to have twenty chickens. When Zack added on it created two separate bedrooms. Curiously, for the past four evenings Ginny has ended up in the half we call Hogwarts. Alone. The twins are adamant, no one sleeps in solitary, so they scoop her up and stuff her in the half called Redwall, where most of the prime perch space has been claimed by girls higher on the pecking order. It is astonishing to see them swell to twice their size when they fluff up their feathers for the night. 

They do not know, but spring is in our future. Green grass and worms will be emerging in six weeks. I try to assure them that this is so. 

Most marriages have cold seasons. It seems to be inevitable rather than merely a possibility. Sometimes friends arrive with prayers, or warm company to keep away the chill. It is easier not to face the night alone.