My husband likes the "free range" idea. By his definition, "free range" means "free." He lets them out of the coop, and out of the chicken run where there are no fences, no walls, no roofs, and no protection from the hawks, the dog, the fox and the neighbors. This arrangement is not ideal. They dig up the yard and the garden, and poop everywhere, and pretty much make huge nuisances of themselves. Meanwhile they tempt all those listed above to eat them for lunch. Except the genius dog who has learned to coexist with the chickens unless they flutter nervously which she believes warrants a little intimidation.
One day recently the husband heard some squawking in the yard, and when he came to check things out, he discovered a hawk with one talon holding down a chicken while it plucked out its tail feathers. Ah the brutal circle of life. The husband, however, managed to save his bird by scaring off the hawk.
The result?
Half a chicken. I call her "Shorty". The husband calls her "Bobbitt."
Here you can compare a chicken with a backside next to one without.
Just in case you would like to examine this tragedy from another angle.
And Shorty isn't the only one suffering on the farm.
The good news is that all of these handicaps do nothing to slow down egg production.
Yes, my friends, we are a long way from the sad, little egg days of yore. Pretty soon I will be starting a blog about cardiovascular illness. Stop by if you want eggs.
The honey business is also doing well.
Don't stop by if you want honey. We're very stingy about the honey.
Some of you might be wondering what all this has to do with breast cancer. Absolutely nothing, I am happy to say.
Wishing you a honey-filled spring.
