Where does the time go? Seems like only yesterday I was posting and checking back every day or so looking for guidance in raising our first ever chicks - six Gold Lace Wyandottes, hatched the first week in April. This site has evidently been very good for me - I've been saying that all along - because now they are big, beautiful thriving chickens. In addition we have added three young (8 week old) Barred Rocks to the group - well, actually they're still in a quarantine pen for about another 10 days, but I wanted them for purely sentimental reasons (as good as any, right??) - they are the breed my mother and her brother raised almost a hundred years ago. Anyway so far, so good. However...for the older ladies, it's getting to be about that time...so...
The other night we made ice cream for an event this evening, and I used the last of my (store-bought) eggs. So I went out and had a little chat with the girls. "C'mon, let's get with the program," I told them. "I've been plying you with all sorts of goodies. You have lovely accommodations and you're allowed out on the town to free range for a while every day," (they had a field day yesterday in the pile of wood shavings from the weekend's work, by the way. It was hilarious. Large unshapely birds lolling around like un-svelte people at the beach...). "So it's time to stand - or squat - and deliver." Thus constitutes my chicken pep talk....Yesterday we officially switched from "grower crumble" (that's baby chicken feed) to "layer crumble" (that's the "let's get down to business" stuff). So this morning - in addition to Tommy yodeling his lungs out, as he does for approximately 10 minutes every morning beginning at 6:10 a.m, and at intervals throughout the day - there were some ungodly cackles and shrieks emanating from the coop. When I sneaked up to peak in, hoping to see five hens all obediently cranking out the eggs in their tidy boxes, they were all lined up as usual on their roost perches just looking at me, like teenagers caught partying. "What? We weren't doin' nothin..." And because their roost is right next to one of the windows I was literally looking into their beady birdie eyes. Well, we'll see. I've done my bit. And I want to bake cookies. "A watched pot never boils" and certainly a watched mare rarely foals. How long do I have to ignore these hens?? It's time, girls...cough 'em up (or whatever...).
So...we shall see!
The other night we made ice cream for an event this evening, and I used the last of my (store-bought) eggs. So I went out and had a little chat with the girls. "C'mon, let's get with the program," I told them. "I've been plying you with all sorts of goodies. You have lovely accommodations and you're allowed out on the town to free range for a while every day," (they had a field day yesterday in the pile of wood shavings from the weekend's work, by the way. It was hilarious. Large unshapely birds lolling around like un-svelte people at the beach...). "So it's time to stand - or squat - and deliver." Thus constitutes my chicken pep talk....Yesterday we officially switched from "grower crumble" (that's baby chicken feed) to "layer crumble" (that's the "let's get down to business" stuff). So this morning - in addition to Tommy yodeling his lungs out, as he does for approximately 10 minutes every morning beginning at 6:10 a.m, and at intervals throughout the day - there were some ungodly cackles and shrieks emanating from the coop. When I sneaked up to peak in, hoping to see five hens all obediently cranking out the eggs in their tidy boxes, they were all lined up as usual on their roost perches just looking at me, like teenagers caught partying. "What? We weren't doin' nothin..." And because their roost is right next to one of the windows I was literally looking into their beady birdie eyes. Well, we'll see. I've done my bit. And I want to bake cookies. "A watched pot never boils" and certainly a watched mare rarely foals. How long do I have to ignore these hens?? It's time, girls...cough 'em up (or whatever...).
So...we shall see!
