Sorry - this post will take on epic proportions that will put you in mind of a 13-yr old's diary.
Well my poor husband got a taste of the harsher side of farm life this last week. He is gone again - week 10 now. We hate this. Hoping this job is over soon! The people keep adding on more and more and more and more (you get the point) work.
It's all my fault because week before last I was feeling pretty good about things and actually said OUT LOUD, "Nothing has died recently, I think we must have finally gotten past that." Never say those words out loud.
So a week ago Sunday we were doing chores and found a dead Basque cockerel. DH has missed out on all the previous shocks. This time he fetched him out of the coop and got the full brunt of the shock. BTW, Davis said no explainable cause. Perhaps it was the infamous heart failure that effects some birds at 7 - 10 months.
Then this weekend was rough. Saturday morning he dispatched a failure to thrive (someone else hatched it) chick. He HATES that job.
Then while we were gone Saturday our LPD which has never hurt any of our chickens was found licking the broody hen. She was frazzled, missing feathers and shivering. There were feathers everywhere and no chicks. It must have been quite the fight. He ate all the chicks! Horrifying.
He didn't harm the broody mama at all. He was just licking and licking her. I saw the way she went after another chicken so I bet all the feathers were her trying to defend the chicks.
We gave her some new ones and she has settled right in.
Then Sunday morning the 2 four-week runts died. I had put the 4-wkrs outside and all are doing fine except the runts died. I was a little philosophical about it. Oh well, survival of the fittest and all. Unfortunately one wasn't quite dead and I when I hauled them out and let them flop on the ground it kind of screamed. My poor husband. He says, "I suppose I'll have to kill that one too". His parting comment. "I had no idea that chicken farming involved so much drama!"
So that was 9 dead chickens from Sunday to Sunday.
It's not normally that bad. What's really bad is that I'm almost laughing about it because my poor husband is in such a state of shock.
I cried the first time I had to dispatch a chick. He hugged me and told me to be a tough farm girl. While he's been gone, I've gotten tough and he's missed that process. I refrained from telling him to become a tough farm boy.