I was right last week, at least one of the chickens is actually a rooster.  What started as a stunted squawk in the late afternoon is now a full-fledged crow-fest at dawn.  We like that, we are early morning types, but I haven’t gathered the opinions of the neighbors yet.  I was thinking of asking them soon, carrying a dozen pullet eggs with me, of course.

I’ve read some chefs refuse to bake with anything else, and I must agree they are delicious.  But will a dozen good eggs be enough to convince them to tolerate our unexpected rooster, especially considering he’s not exactly necessary to the production process?  He’s huge and pompous, and when you see what he does to those poor hens, well, I’d have no remorse throwing him in the stew pot.  The thing is, noisy horny arrogant pecker that he is, I really want to keep him.  He’s colorful and fun to watch and that crowing makes it feel like a real farm to me.  I’m not sure why I like that, but I really do.  Though I really do hope it’s not just novelty, because handy hubby likes it so much I don’t I could persuade him to ever leave.

Words, logic, and general functioning seem to be lacking for me these days, I’m blaming it on the weather, so rather than try to write more, I thought I’d add photos instead to illustrate last week’s post.

The bullish wandering cow that has made herself overly-comfortable

The bullish wandering cow that has made herself overly-comfortable

Does she feel any need to share?

Does she feel any need to share?

What a difference a year makes

What a difference a year makes