Not really *through* with chickens, just through with them in my dining room!
One week old chicks are very cute, quiet and peepalicious. One MONTH old chickens are screeching pterodactyls who shit constantly and never sleep. And because I like to sleep, it’s time to move my babies outside.
On reflection, I notice that this photo makes everything I put together for chickens look like a garbage dump; dirty crate, some half assed plastic wrap, rusty old enclosure. Before I lived in the Stix, I used to think that everyone who farmed liked to be surrounded by garbage and was genetically incapable of cleaning up their land. Now that I live here, and keep farm animals, I realize that short of enslaving a team of Oompaloompahs to scrub and clean for you every minute of every day, there is just no way to have attractive chicken housing. And it’s also pointless, since they’re just going to shit it up now matter how nice it is.
Anyway, the little chickens are in an addition built off the big chickens’ yard so they can all get used to one another for several weeks through the wire fence. Big chickens are real assholes to little chickens. In about a month, I (<– by “I” I mean “my landlord”) am going to drag the shed on skids from the lower pasture up to the chicken yard, turn it into a hen house and expand the chicken yard by another third, and throw everyone in all together. By the end of the summer, I am going to be drowning in tasty, multi-coloured eggs. I’m already getting about 3 dozen a week from the big chickens. Hopefully none of the little chickens are roosters! If they are, I will eat them.
The metal enclosure for the little chickens is not very heavy, but it’s big and awkward … and because it’s been sitting out for about a year in the grass, it was trying really hard to become One with the ground, so it was hard as hell to move. I hurt my back a little trying to drag that sucker over to where I needed it to be.
The dogs were outside with me, amusing themselves, for the couple of hours it took to put it all together, and by the time I was ready to pay some attention to the pooches, I was too tired to stand up and kick a soccer ball or whatever. So I decided to sit down instead.
Which makes me Spring’s mobile pillow.
I think it’s funny that tough little terriers, who will dig through a cement wall filled with dynamite to get something they want, if necessary, also require extra comfy places to lay down several times a day.
Are you just going to sit on your ass all morning?
I really hate being judged – and found lacking! – by 30lbs of border collie.
Fortunately Dexter came to my rescue.
No she’s not! She’s going to play toss the, umm, the, umm … ribbon ball toy thing.
And thus did we pass the rest of the morning, playing toss the, umm, whatever it is.
You throw again now please kthx?
Except for Wootie, who prefers being fat and getting head rubs.
And TWooie, who was busy resource guarding the chickens and a 50 foot radius around their new pen.
I tried to get him to play, but in the two years I have had TWoo, he has never managed to grasp the idea of toys being “fun.”
At this point, I think it’s a lost cause.
When I finally told everyone it was time for us to go inside, Piper pretended she had gone deaf.