arkyartist
Chirping
so. My name is Sally and I’ve been a member of BYC for awhile but only this month got fully initiated into all the poop of actually keeping our own chickens on our farm of misfits and rejects.
*IT WAS AN ACCIDENT*
My DH, in the South folks call him B’arn, was on his way home from a twelve hour shift at the sawmill when he spied a plastic sack in the ditch. Except— as he got closer he realized there was something very odd about this WalMart sack that had red printing and was in the shape of a chicken. Yup. I gotta get that man an eye exam scheduled soon. Anyway... as he was feeling sorry for his old crippled self he realized it could be worse... he could have just flown off a chicken transport and have to lay out in the woods until a predator came along and ate him for dinner. So, he decided to stop and save a chicken.
Two and half weeks later, Mrs Sanders is laying eggs and hobbling around on a gimpy leg. She lives in our donkey stable (that the donkeys refuse to use as they much prefer the tractor sheds) and B’arn has demanded that she needs “friends”... as opposed to our twelve sawmill-orphaned cats that he has drug home.
We have determined that Mrs S is a Cornish X and today I brought her eight maids a milking. Scuse me. That should be Marans. And Wyandottes.
Anywhoozies... we have now jumped in and the feathers aren’t flying. And, no... the pullets aren’t in with Mrs S yet... I’m keeping them in the dog’s crates... the dogs will have to sleep with the tractors or in our bed for now.
*IT WAS AN ACCIDENT*
My DH, in the South folks call him B’arn, was on his way home from a twelve hour shift at the sawmill when he spied a plastic sack in the ditch. Except— as he got closer he realized there was something very odd about this WalMart sack that had red printing and was in the shape of a chicken. Yup. I gotta get that man an eye exam scheduled soon. Anyway... as he was feeling sorry for his old crippled self he realized it could be worse... he could have just flown off a chicken transport and have to lay out in the woods until a predator came along and ate him for dinner. So, he decided to stop and save a chicken.
Two and half weeks later, Mrs Sanders is laying eggs and hobbling around on a gimpy leg. She lives in our donkey stable (that the donkeys refuse to use as they much prefer the tractor sheds) and B’arn has demanded that she needs “friends”... as opposed to our twelve sawmill-orphaned cats that he has drug home.
We have determined that Mrs S is a Cornish X and today I brought her eight maids a milking. Scuse me. That should be Marans. And Wyandottes.
Anywhoozies... we have now jumped in and the feathers aren’t flying. And, no... the pullets aren’t in with Mrs S yet... I’m keeping them in the dog’s crates... the dogs will have to sleep with the tractors or in our bed for now.
Please tell us more.

We are glad you joined this flock!