Another week has come and gone, and the chicks are ... well, they look like small chickens, not babies any more.
They are sleeping on the roost with the big hens now, though I think they would really still like to be cuddled under Lydia in the nest box.
There's just not enough room any more.
Lydia is working on her new feathers. Now that her tail feathers are coming in, and the neck ones too, I see that some of her neck, and most of the tail feathers are not white, but dove gray. Time will tell if her neck will feather out properly. She still has that scar where the rooster pecked her over and over. But the wound from the hawk is completely healed. She's a trooper.
I think I can say with confidence now that I have two hens and a rooster.
This is the littlest hen and the most timid. She always seems to be doing her own thing.
This is the other pullet... I can only think that she looks like a wild pheasant when I see her.
And here's Master roo.... bigger and feistier than everyone.... except Ms. Ambercrombie. He runs away from her toot sweet. Everyone does.
Here's his close up... he has an extra wattle.
Mr. eagle eye.
While I am happy that everyone is doing so well, there is one fact of chicken keeping at the beginning of November that is not so cheerful:
Egg production is in the doldrums. Or, more precisely, is in molt.
(What are those things on those napkins? Bugs? That's disgusting.)
No, those are lavender blossoms from the nest.
(Oh.)
And thank you so much for jumping to the wrong conclusion immediately.
(Not a problem, I come by it naturally.)
Don't I know it.
Lydia is working on her new feathers. Now that her tail feathers are coming in, and the neck ones too, I see that some of her neck, and most of the tail feathers are not white, but dove gray. Time will tell if her neck will feather out properly. She still has that scar where the rooster pecked her over and over. But the wound from the hawk is completely healed. She's a trooper.
I think I can say with confidence now that I have two hens and a rooster.
This is the littlest hen and the most timid. She always seems to be doing her own thing.
This is the other pullet... I can only think that she looks like a wild pheasant when I see her.
And here's Master roo.... bigger and feistier than everyone.... except Ms. Ambercrombie. He runs away from her toot sweet. Everyone does.
Here's his close up... he has an extra wattle.
Mr. eagle eye.
While I am happy that everyone is doing so well, there is one fact of chicken keeping at the beginning of November that is not so cheerful:
Egg production is in the doldrums. Or, more precisely, is in molt.
(What are those things on those napkins? Bugs? That's disgusting.)
No, those are lavender blossoms from the nest.
(Oh.)
And thank you so much for jumping to the wrong conclusion immediately.
(Not a problem, I come by it naturally.)
Don't I know it.