It could be said that Buck is getting his own back or that he knows how to nurse a grievance.
"You never know" [ he remarked to me this morning ]"how a day is going to turn out.
It starts with a broom and a bag and a car ride that you are pretty sure will end up turning you into soup, jewelry and compost, but what happens is you land in a yard managed by a no-nothing whose generosity and ignorance may be successfully exploited for your benefit.
This sort of attitude may be why you wound up with your legs tied together, head down in a bag in the first place, but this is a whole new ball game and it can't hurt to try the traditional approach first."
" Hens!" he said to himself "This is looking good."
Well. Maybe not so good, Buck, because Bette had established herself as the alpha hen, and was just getting around to learning to crow when this testosterone ridden giant turned up and thought that he had the roost under his control by divine fiat. Her solution? She chewed of the end of one of his toes. Just a stub now, no toenail at all. You wouldn't think a roosters feet could get any uglier, but they can. Today I put out a nice fresh bowl of warm water for them and Buck immediately stepped in it rinsing off his feet, but decreasing any inspiration the other Avian Americans might have had to dip their beaks.
Buck occasionally stands thoughtfully with his amputated toe tucked up into his belly, more in this season - [ I wonder if the stump helps him predict the weather?] and broods on past wrongs and possible difficult futures; affronts, slights and unwarranted interference is on his mind. You can see it in his eyes. These are the times when it is prudent to steer clear.
I put out a pile of peanut nibs for them this morning, and heard the usual excited noises.
Buck stood dead center on the pile of food so that any ladies who wanted it would have to muscle in to get it. This did not bother him, it was an opportunity for him to molest hens in a tight space. Not enough distance for all of them to get far enough away. Good probability for him of getting lucky. Whatever it takes to dull the edge of memory,Buck.
"You never know" [ he remarked to me this morning ]"how a day is going to turn out.
It starts with a broom and a bag and a car ride that you are pretty sure will end up turning you into soup, jewelry and compost, but what happens is you land in a yard managed by a no-nothing whose generosity and ignorance may be successfully exploited for your benefit.
This sort of attitude may be why you wound up with your legs tied together, head down in a bag in the first place, but this is a whole new ball game and it can't hurt to try the traditional approach first."
" Hens!" he said to himself "This is looking good."
Well. Maybe not so good, Buck, because Bette had established herself as the alpha hen, and was just getting around to learning to crow when this testosterone ridden giant turned up and thought that he had the roost under his control by divine fiat. Her solution? She chewed of the end of one of his toes. Just a stub now, no toenail at all. You wouldn't think a roosters feet could get any uglier, but they can. Today I put out a nice fresh bowl of warm water for them and Buck immediately stepped in it rinsing off his feet, but decreasing any inspiration the other Avian Americans might have had to dip their beaks.
Buck occasionally stands thoughtfully with his amputated toe tucked up into his belly, more in this season - [ I wonder if the stump helps him predict the weather?] and broods on past wrongs and possible difficult futures; affronts, slights and unwarranted interference is on his mind. You can see it in his eyes. These are the times when it is prudent to steer clear.
I put out a pile of peanut nibs for them this morning, and heard the usual excited noises.
Buck stood dead center on the pile of food so that any ladies who wanted it would have to muscle in to get it. This did not bother him, it was an opportunity for him to molest hens in a tight space. Not enough distance for all of them to get far enough away. Good probability for him of getting lucky. Whatever it takes to dull the edge of memory,Buck.
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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.