I remember wandering around in the backyard the day after we gave away our last flock of chickens feeling much sadder than I had expected to. It was too quiet. We’d spent over two years with chickens and I guess we got used to having them. Over the following months we gradually forgot all the times that Trudy (our dog) or one of the kids tracked chicken poop into the house (Well, I did. Jonny probably didn’t. He’s more sensitive about poop than I am.) The huge problem of chicken poop on the porch quickly shifted in my mind to the huge emptiness that our flock left behind. When we started talking about chicks this spring I said, “What if we just got six?” Somehow six became seventeen. But seventeen is less than two dozen, which was the size of our last flock.
Right now these new girls (and the one accidental boy) are entertaining us in ways that only chickens can. The Columbian Rock Crosses (white with black around their necks) are the friendliest of the bunch with the Rhode Island Reds in second place. The red Ameraucana seen in several of these photos is a pretty outgoing girl herself. I think she’s the first chicken to try peeking in the kitchen window from atop the recycling can.
Mr. Rooster Doodle is reminding us that roosters like to crow a lot. It’s far more pleasant having just one. I am hoping that he will be a happier guy due to the lack of competition for the ladies. We ended up with four roosters our last go around and it wasn’t the best situation. I want him to work out, I really do.