ruffled feathers

I stopped this little Barred rock hen who’s been wearing a denim jacket for a while, to see if she needed it still, or if her feathers had regrown underneath.  Three of the other jacket hens are out of their coats now.

This one happens to wear her coat like it grew on her, edges neatly tucked under her wings, and a perfect fit at her tail.  I never see her jacket askew.  But when I grabbed her to look under it, I messed everything up.

Boy, was I in trouble!

The indignation!  The resentment!  The phrase “ruffled feathers” really took on embodiment.  She was pissed at me for messing up her outfit, which she mimed very expressively, starting off with a vigorous head shake, of which I got this neat picture.

Grrrrr!

What have you done?!

Then she proceeded to adjust herself, irritated as all get out that I’d interrupted her day so inconsiderately.  Look at this mess!  Now I have to stop everything to fix it, when I was just about to get the good spot on the coop. 

What have you done?!

Then she proceeded to adjust herself, irritated as all get out that I’d interrupted her day so inconsiderately.  Look at this mess!  Now I have to stop everything to fix it, when I was just about to get the good spot on the coop. 

She’s not over it, though. 

Don’t think I’ve forgotten.