Hi everyone,
When I began my career of (underground) suburban chicken farmer one year ago, it was with the naive insouciance of the age of innocence. I was enjoying building coops, relaxing with my hens, picking up eggs, etc., and dreaming of hatching eggs, raising chicks, acquiring new breeds, etc. I didn't wan't to think about the other thing that inevitably comes with the deal - the culling.
And so at the beginning of April, we got ourselves 20 cute little chicks of different breeds. And soon enough, I had to face reality. First I had to cull two sick baby chicks, then a sick adult hen, and then another hen. Being an urban guy since birth, these were my first experiences of culling. But I followed the great advice given by some experienced members of BackyardChickens.com, and I managed all that relatively well - just a few tears and some flashbacks of gory images in the following days. So I thought that I was now ready to face the music, having been initiated to the butchering part.
That was before 10 out of our 18 chicks turned out to be roosters. And we knew that in the end, we could keep two at the very most... So the day came when I had to cull 4 roosters (luckily, we succeded to give another one away). Again, I managed it without losing too much sleep.
But then we hanged on to 5 roosters for several more weeks, gave them names and grew very attached to them. But the chorus of 5 crowing roosters in suburbia soon brought us back from dreamland. We desperately tried to find them new owners, to no avail.
Which brings us to last Monday, the 20th of July. That day, after much procrastination and pondering which two roosters would be spared, I had to cull my wife's beloved Frankie, my beloved Che and our very dear Zeus. Last of the three, I was bringing Zeus and as I turned the corner of the house and walked towards the bloody "killing log", he repeated several times a little complaint that really sounded like "Oh-oh!"... But still, I patted him, kissed him and the axe fell.
Every night since then, my poor Zeus' "Oh-oh!" is ringing in my ears. Now I wonder if I will ever get used to this part of chicken farming. One thing is for sure though - I will always hate it.
Thank you for reading me and sharing my sadness.
Pierre
When I began my career of (underground) suburban chicken farmer one year ago, it was with the naive insouciance of the age of innocence. I was enjoying building coops, relaxing with my hens, picking up eggs, etc., and dreaming of hatching eggs, raising chicks, acquiring new breeds, etc. I didn't wan't to think about the other thing that inevitably comes with the deal - the culling.
And so at the beginning of April, we got ourselves 20 cute little chicks of different breeds. And soon enough, I had to face reality. First I had to cull two sick baby chicks, then a sick adult hen, and then another hen. Being an urban guy since birth, these were my first experiences of culling. But I followed the great advice given by some experienced members of BackyardChickens.com, and I managed all that relatively well - just a few tears and some flashbacks of gory images in the following days. So I thought that I was now ready to face the music, having been initiated to the butchering part.
That was before 10 out of our 18 chicks turned out to be roosters. And we knew that in the end, we could keep two at the very most... So the day came when I had to cull 4 roosters (luckily, we succeded to give another one away). Again, I managed it without losing too much sleep.
But then we hanged on to 5 roosters for several more weeks, gave them names and grew very attached to them. But the chorus of 5 crowing roosters in suburbia soon brought us back from dreamland. We desperately tried to find them new owners, to no avail.
Which brings us to last Monday, the 20th of July. That day, after much procrastination and pondering which two roosters would be spared, I had to cull my wife's beloved Frankie, my beloved Che and our very dear Zeus. Last of the three, I was bringing Zeus and as I turned the corner of the house and walked towards the bloody "killing log", he repeated several times a little complaint that really sounded like "Oh-oh!"... But still, I patted him, kissed him and the axe fell.
Every night since then, my poor Zeus' "Oh-oh!" is ringing in my ears. Now I wonder if I will ever get used to this part of chicken farming. One thing is for sure though - I will always hate it.
Thank you for reading me and sharing my sadness.
Pierre
