Big Shafizzle, Not Even Any Drizzle...

No snow.

Sigh.

Myrtle and the ladies are snug in their beds, however.  We put up the most hideous looking green tarp on two sides of the coop and a couple of sheets on the other two sides; it's not completely airtight, and it's not the best insulation in the world, but it will at least keep them above freezing tonight.

It also helps that they are living on top of compost tea.

We keep bringing up compost, don't we?  That's because it's the miracle cure-all for your urban chicken troubles.  The coop is fully 15 degrees warmer than the outside air.  Why?  Because of all the rotting leaves, that's why.

We would imagine that ancestral chickens, like the Red Jungle Fowl pictured here, were plenty warm in winter, and cool in summer.  Life under the trees is what a chicken craves, and we aim to make Myrtle and the girls as happy as we can in that regard -- without exposing them to the neighborhood hawks or raccoons, naturally.

So, we only got a few flakes, when Houston got pounded.  Big whoop.  We've still got happy chicens with beautiful red flappies.

Happy farming!