It’s a glorious morning, here on the Farmlet. We finally got some much needed rain last night, in the form of a beautiful little thunderstorm, and all is green and moist. The adult chickens are racing all over the yard, bawking or crowing their fool heads off (according to sex), including the world’s least melodious chicken.
That’s Gloria in the back, the black one. As you might remember from previous discussion, she got her name when she bolted out of the coop right before her scheduled processing: Gloria Gaynor Chicken, who will survive. She might THINK her vocal performance is amazing, since she does it for HOURS, both before and after laying, but that is one noisy, out of tune chicken. Don’t quit your day job, sugar.
In rabbitland, the almost 3 week old small buns have been exploring the world of solid food. This is good, since they’ll be weaned in about a week, but for now they’re alternating between the food dish, clumps of grassy treats, and trying to sneak under mom while she’s not paying attention for a quick drink. I keep trying to get a good picture of one upside down under Rhetta, kicking away, but they’re too fast for me.
And over in the coop, we’ve opened the brooder door and freed the Impulse Chickens to explore the yard a bit. Here’s the thing, though: chickens are charming, HIGHLY entertaining, useful, and delicious.
What they are not, is smart.
So my task for the last few days has been TEACHING the featherheaded little youngsters how to get back into the open door of the brooder, to escape from the big girls. Over and over. It usually only takes a day or two, but this batch seems particularly unbright.
I’m off to a gig this afternoon, so they’ll have to hold the Farmlet together while I’m gone. I’m definitely leaving the dogs in charge.
Until next time,