I like how that sounds. It makes me feel very earthy and organic.
This last summer I got it in my head to turn our "rustic" storage shed into a hen house. The shed was piece-mealed together by Mr. Ate many years before I met him. Another unfinished project, but I felt it had potential. Three walls made from half timbers (the fourth wall plywood), a working double hung window, a leaking flat-top roof. All salvagable, in my opinion.
Next, the chicks. (Is it "Chicks" or "Chics"?) This was the easy part. Aren't all chicks cute? I say "Yes".
A kids plastic pool and one mail-order later, I had my chics.
The thing is, chicks grow. And they get to be too big for a kiddy pool. So what do you do with them until they're ready for their hen house? A trip to Fleet Farm proved to be useful-- there I found the transition home I needed-- a hen hutch to hold these growing ladies.
Then Mr. Ate came home for a visit. He wanted the "Chick Experience" too. So away we went to our local feed mill where hundreds of chics awaited homes-- chicken chicks, Guinea Hen chicks, Duckling chicks. We came home with 7 more chicks. I blame him.
As the chicks grew, we noticed the new chicks were not as friendly, and one even seems a bit aggressive. That's when we had an inkling we had ourselves one rooster.
Here's the demon when he was still cute and somewhat innocent.
Now for this next part, viewer discretion is advised....
Our little chicks grew into mini-hens and were able to stay in their new digs-- the converted hen house and new attached pen. They were loving the pad and enjoyed being turned out into the yard to find woodticks and other delicacies. They started turning out eggs. Lots of eggs. Very pretty eggs.
All laid the pretty eggs, except one. One who grew into a beautiful long-tailed, colorful, big-red-comb-having rooster. And he was mean. He drew blood on several of the hens. But he wasn't just mean to "the girls", but to humans, too!
(My iPhone crashed and I lost all my mobile pictures, so I no longer have any pictures of said rooster)
So there came a day, when I went out to feed my feathered friends and I ended up fending off a crazed, lunatic, beady-eyed rooster with the lid from a garbage can and some swift foot action. At that point, I called my father-in-law and hinted that if the rooster was not around when I returned home from work, that would be perfectly okay.
The next night, my in-laws invited us over for chicken dinner. The end.
PS-- the "girls"are very happy.
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