I really like mine, too. They are five weeks old and out on pasture now.
Had one accidentally break his neck at four weeks; we were right there and heard the commotion, so I dressed him out to eat. Interestingly, he dressed to the exact weight of a supermarket "cornish game hen" -- 22 oz.
I felt bad that the little guy broke his neck, especially since he did it just before I moved them out onto pasture -- so he never got to enjoy foraging and being a real chicken. Boo hoo.
My husband fried him up three days later, and it was so delicious, and such a modest portion, I was ready to run outside and murder another one if Ken would fry it right away.
I'm planning to have someone else process just because I have so many -- 100 birds (plus the four Cornish x and possibly some surplus Delaware roos) -- that it doesn't seem feasible to do it ourselves, even with help.
But I think it will be easier on us, too.
I enjoy watching them out on the pasture, playing at being wild jungle fowl. They are friendly and come to the fence when I approach, gather around if I sit on a bucket with them.
I'm giving them a good life, a real chicken's life, with clean surroundings, fresh pasture, enough space and fresh air, wholesome food and water. I suffer sentimentally from killing and eating them, but when I contemplate the nasty, brutish, and short life of the industrial chicken, I know this is a better way.
BTW, my four Cornish X are as personable in their own way as the rangers. Maybe that wouldn't be true if there were more of them, but they, too, are living like real chickens.