Eons ago, in our first year in the Village, a good friend of my son thought to help us out, by delivering a grocer's dozen of near-feral chooks that had been terrorizing Upper Rollands Plains. These, the boys had rounded up in one afternoon's feathered version of catch the greasy pig. A car boot load arrived just on sunset - and unannounced.
What the ...!
Where to put them - no chookhouse, no cages of any kind - in short - no preparations at all. The boys stood there like cheshire cats, so proud of their contribution to Tele Point self-sufficiency.
The poultry spent the night in a zincalume garden shed, and the next day it was all hands on deck to .....let's go make a chookhouse.
There wasn't much in the way of materials - a little wire mesh, some scraps of corrugated iron sheeting, and an old child's swingset pipe frame without the swings.
Inside a day we had a lean-to roof and a half, and a wire enclosure with a rudimentary door. Good enough for now - we'll build a better one down the track.
Seventeen years later, and the original dog's breakfast of a chook house was still there, and in need of a make over.
Out came the door, and in its place went a mezanine of nest boxes - three in all. A new door was added in the side, and that same side extended to provide an A-frame yard. Another door, and we can walk in without stooping. Add some more corrugated iron to protect against the southerlies and westerlies, and mesh on the northerly outlook - and it was nearly finished.
A small offcut of shadecloth to temper the summer heat, leaving a sunny corner for those cold days - and we are done.
All we need now is for the ladies to arrive and take up residence.
That should happen this week if the chicken gods are kind.