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Yesterday, Bobby and I went to the livestock auction in Westminster. It was our third time going: once for chicks, twice for Ameraucanas, and the third time to replace the roosters. Well, we struck out the first two times, but three's a charm, and we came home with five fluffy hens: three Delawares and two New Hampshire Reds. We've already gotten two eggs out of them.
The roosters are gone. Bobby found a guy and his wife with a farm that pretty much collect chickens because they like them. He had an ad up on Craigslist and was happy to take our four fellows off of our hands. We dropped them off on Tuesday. It was a little sad saying goodbye, to the little reds at least. (The Rocks weren't particularly friendly and smelled bad and Dicey Riley clawed up my arm when I was trying to catch him on Saturday.) Sophia fluttered into my arms for one last time, and we walked out to the shed to refill the feeder, and that was it. But they're in a good place now.
As we drove away from the farm, Bobby's iPod shuffled the Dubliner's song "Dicey Riley." Ha!
( And School ... )
The roosters are gone. Bobby found a guy and his wife with a farm that pretty much collect chickens because they like them. He had an ad up on Craigslist and was happy to take our four fellows off of our hands. We dropped them off on Tuesday. It was a little sad saying goodbye, to the little reds at least. (The Rocks weren't particularly friendly and smelled bad and Dicey Riley clawed up my arm when I was trying to catch him on Saturday.) Sophia fluttered into my arms for one last time, and we walked out to the shed to refill the feeder, and that was it. But they're in a good place now.
As we drove away from the farm, Bobby's iPod shuffled the Dubliner's song "Dicey Riley." Ha!
( And School ... )
