Shortly after writing that I planned to sit around all day, I got restless and wandered over to Landlady’s place. There’s always something to do if I rouse myself to do it.
Right now Landlady’s Big Chickenhouse contains what amounts to two separate flocks: For better or worse they don’t interact much at all.
The Brahmas are down to ten hens and one cock. They’re generally mild-mannered birds that don’t give a lot of trouble, but they do take up a lot of space and food for what they give back. Compared to Rhode Island Reds they’re not outstanding layers. They are, however, delicious.
James Dean here occasionally gets into his tiny head that I’m an enemy that needs to be attacked. Yesterday it earned him a good swift kick that he seemed not to have forgotten this morning. But he’s not as promiscuous about it as his late, unlamented and reportedly juicy and delicious buddy Marlon so I let it pass. That’s Agnes the Red in the lower left: She’s doing fine since getting moved in here in November.
(Yes, the floor is a mess. Landlady left me money for new straw but I can’t buy what isn’t there to be bought and the two times I’ve been past there the feed store still didn’t have any straw for sale. Maybe Monday.)
Landlady brought up five of these Cornish pullets, which are slated to die by my hand next weekend. They’ve grown so fast they’re grotesque, and I’ve never seen such docile and trusting birds in my short career as a chicken nanny. Killing them will be like murder. Tasty, tasty murder.
And these four are mine. They’re scheduled for a long, happy life, though shit does occasionally happen. They’ve got one more week here, then I’m going to partition off the Fortress of Attitude and move them over there to see if I can integrate all my birds into the same place without disaster striking. Again.
While there I serviced Landlady’s batteries, which I was actually supposed to do a week ago. Having finally purchased an actual gadget for refilling batteries, this chore is quite a lot less onerous. I do need to clean the tops again. The powershed adjoins the chickenhouse and there’s an open window between them: The chickens stir up an absurd amount of dust.