Considering that I can't eat eggs and that I give them all away, use them as bribes or get $2.25 a dozen for them at the local market, it does look crazy that I have spent so much money on these flightless birds.
Well, I hope they're not listening, because a couple of them believe they can fly, and who am I to dash their dreams? I don't even dream of flying.
I bought and figured out how to install a door that opens and closes by electricity, regulated by a timer. The timer does not work. It's not an outdoor timer which is a mystery, since I bought it from The Backyard Chicken, a purveyor of all things fowl whom one would think had a grip on the correct equipment to include in their pricey unit. But no. This is an emporium that advertises items such as chicken diapers [ ! ] and saddles.
Too intrigued to let that go, I found out what saddles were for, and they make sense. One of the B's has a severe feather deficit on her back, and I think I'm going to have to get one for her until they grow back in.
The diaper, a most undignified object, is for when you have to have your chickens in the house for some reason. Quarantine, frigid cold or because you have become truly silly about your chickens and are trying out the idea of having them as house pets.
My experience so far encourages me that chickens would like nothing better than to come inside, though wearing a diaper might be too high a price to pay.
I try to imagine wrestling Buck into such a contraption.
I'm fairly certain that I would be the loser in that contest, and would have a much grumblier rooster than I do at present, and recently he's been very grumbly indeed.
I'm surprised at his behavior toward the New Girls. I would think he would be pleased. I would think his manhood would be swelling at the prospect and flapping himself on the back for being rewarded with 3 replacement hens for the 2 he lost track of early on in his reign, instead, he is indignant and suspicious.
I must be slipping to expect gratitude from a chicken - or anyone; the cats are historically ungrateful as well.
In keeping chickens to please myself, I am happy every day to watch them live their lives that are so different from mine, and yet not so different when it comes to the purity of the turf, the availability of water, food, shelter, warmth, companionship, conversation and conflict.
It's distressing when they aren't pleased and so pleasing when they aren't distressed.
Well, I hope they're not listening, because a couple of them believe they can fly, and who am I to dash their dreams? I don't even dream of flying.
I bought and figured out how to install a door that opens and closes by electricity, regulated by a timer. The timer does not work. It's not an outdoor timer which is a mystery, since I bought it from The Backyard Chicken, a purveyor of all things fowl whom one would think had a grip on the correct equipment to include in their pricey unit. But no. This is an emporium that advertises items such as chicken diapers [ ! ] and saddles.
Too intrigued to let that go, I found out what saddles were for, and they make sense. One of the B's has a severe feather deficit on her back, and I think I'm going to have to get one for her until they grow back in.
The diaper, a most undignified object, is for when you have to have your chickens in the house for some reason. Quarantine, frigid cold or because you have become truly silly about your chickens and are trying out the idea of having them as house pets.
My experience so far encourages me that chickens would like nothing better than to come inside, though wearing a diaper might be too high a price to pay.
I try to imagine wrestling Buck into such a contraption.
I'm fairly certain that I would be the loser in that contest, and would have a much grumblier rooster than I do at present, and recently he's been very grumbly indeed.
I'm surprised at his behavior toward the New Girls. I would think he would be pleased. I would think his manhood would be swelling at the prospect and flapping himself on the back for being rewarded with 3 replacement hens for the 2 he lost track of early on in his reign, instead, he is indignant and suspicious.
I must be slipping to expect gratitude from a chicken - or anyone; the cats are historically ungrateful as well.
In keeping chickens to please myself, I am happy every day to watch them live their lives that are so different from mine, and yet not so different when it comes to the purity of the turf, the availability of water, food, shelter, warmth, companionship, conversation and conflict.
It's distressing when they aren't pleased and so pleasing when they aren't distressed.
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Glad to hear from you, but criticisms will be ignored. It's the beauty of the web. I will answer all friendly remarks. Buck handles the rest.