Been awhile since Buck has had anything to say to me. We had one hell of a couple of weeks where it was frequently too cold for the chickens to be willing to come out of the coop. On the sunnier less windy days, one or two of the more rebellious girls would come down the ramp and go under the coop and hunker down in the frozen dirt and complain. The coop got pretty nasty over a few days, but they had thawed out water and heat until somebody's eye caught the glowing red light of the ceramic heater bolted to the wall and turned it off.
The result was that Buck got frostbite on his comb, and one of the girls has a cough that would do any smoker proud.
When we finally had a warmish day, even though it was raining, they braved the slippery surfaces to crowd on to the porch and beg for some kind of more interesting food than they had been eating.
I found that they really enjoy iceberg lettuce. Why? Maybe it's because it has good water content and stays put on the ball, so that it's kind of like a popsicle.
I get quite a bit of Romaine that has been deemed unworthy for sale by the local rich person's emporium, so I give them some of that and they play catch with it. They eventually eat it too, but not before they have spread it around, trampled it and gotten it wedged in places you would not believe.
Buck has been significantly slowed down by the cold, yesterday, he was milling around my feet with the girls hoping I'd move a little faster to give him something to do, but in spite of what he thinks of me, I can learn, so I stay pretty still around him. I was able to reach down and touch his back before getting a look of total indignation and affront. Today, I was trying to clean off yesterdays mess of partially chewed romaine and trampled kale from the porch. He paused to tell me what he thought of me [I don't think what he said was meant as a compliment] instead of the usual jihad on the broom. He gave the straw end one desultory peck before side stepping away. Definitely off his game.
I'm trying to catch the hen with the cough, I have heard that what you do with a coughing hen is to kill her, but I don't think I have the willingness to do that. I'd rather put her in a warm safe place, isolated from the others until it stops.
This picture doesn't show how completely soaked and bedraggled she got from the rain, but her gaze gives you an idea of what she thought of it.
I'm with them. I'm glad of a mildish Winter, and white clawing it until Spring. It's good to hear them outside on the days when the temperature is in the 40's talking to one another. It's good to hear them discuss the pleasures of life and expressing the delight in finding some charming thing to eat, grapes, blueberries, and, I have found, peanuts. They don't necessarily trust me to get very close to them, but it's just that they know they are irresistible, and if allowed, people will take liberties.
I remind myself that nobody is allowed to ask the Queen a direct question. It's sort of that kind of relationship.
The result was that Buck got frostbite on his comb, and one of the girls has a cough that would do any smoker proud.
When we finally had a warmish day, even though it was raining, they braved the slippery surfaces to crowd on to the porch and beg for some kind of more interesting food than they had been eating.
I found that they really enjoy iceberg lettuce. Why? Maybe it's because it has good water content and stays put on the ball, so that it's kind of like a popsicle.
I get quite a bit of Romaine that has been deemed unworthy for sale by the local rich person's emporium, so I give them some of that and they play catch with it. They eventually eat it too, but not before they have spread it around, trampled it and gotten it wedged in places you would not believe.
Buck has been significantly slowed down by the cold, yesterday, he was milling around my feet with the girls hoping I'd move a little faster to give him something to do, but in spite of what he thinks of me, I can learn, so I stay pretty still around him. I was able to reach down and touch his back before getting a look of total indignation and affront. Today, I was trying to clean off yesterdays mess of partially chewed romaine and trampled kale from the porch. He paused to tell me what he thought of me [I don't think what he said was meant as a compliment] instead of the usual jihad on the broom. He gave the straw end one desultory peck before side stepping away. Definitely off his game.
I'm trying to catch the hen with the cough, I have heard that what you do with a coughing hen is to kill her, but I don't think I have the willingness to do that. I'd rather put her in a warm safe place, isolated from the others until it stops.
This picture doesn't show how completely soaked and bedraggled she got from the rain, but her gaze gives you an idea of what she thought of it.
I'm with them. I'm glad of a mildish Winter, and white clawing it until Spring. It's good to hear them outside on the days when the temperature is in the 40's talking to one another. It's good to hear them discuss the pleasures of life and expressing the delight in finding some charming thing to eat, grapes, blueberries, and, I have found, peanuts. They don't necessarily trust me to get very close to them, but it's just that they know they are irresistible, and if allowed, people will take liberties.
I remind myself that nobody is allowed to ask the Queen a direct question. It's sort of that kind of relationship.
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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.