True stories of a small flock of remarkable individuals -- and other critters.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010


Continued from:  Becoming a Chicken

This post is dedicated to the memory of our little Cobbie,
who lived his entire life with this expression on his face.

He was six years old when he died  -- a little old man.
We'll miss your little pink lips, Cobbie, your loving personality, and your chubby little obesity.

So again I wipe away a tear and move on... to the circus in my backyard.

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News alert!
Fern and Daisy are definitely girls. I just know they are. Look at these little figures --- how they hold their little tails high.  No doubt.  They're girls. Girls.

Fern and Daisy are inseparable.  They're like one four-legged chicken. 

 They come when I call, because I often have treats.  So now they consider me the most amazing human of all time, which is of course my plan.

Lil'White continues to terrorize the young'uns, 

but in the brutal heat of recent weeks, she has been just too hot to viciously pursue Fern and Daisy. 
She pants. She swoons. She drags her wings and carries on.
So Fern and Daisy get a break.

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Here's the current setup:  

With a 14 foot play-yard between the hens' coop and the babies' coop, there's a good amount of free space for them to be together during the day. Hawks circle overhead and foxes lurk in the woods, but as long as Marky's around, the girls are safe behind the flimsy fencing and bird netting.

Marky's been spending a lot of time milling about the coop lately, 

as he's discovered a dense city of mice and voles just beneath the surface.   Spilled chicken-feed has lured the little vermin... I can only imagine the size of their stash.   Their sounds and smells are driving Marky Mad.

To prevent spillage, you're supposed to raise the feed bin up to the level of the chickens' backs, 

which I did.

But shoveling food onto the ground is Pigeon's favorite thing to do, and raising the feeder was no deterrent.

So Mouse City continues to grow, well-nourished. 

And Marky continues to spend his summer days standing in the coop, staring at the ground.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 

After three years and 1,800 eggs, here's a first:

Somebody laid an egg the size of a grape.

And I think I know who did it.

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