As I have posted before, there is a new-found consciousness regarding the food habits in our household. Corn sweeteners do not cross our threshold, we are mostly vegetarian and we’ve mastered chicken husbandry nicely.
Well. We have chickens. LJ (named after a Scottish friend), the only non-rooster from our first batch of five Wyandotte’s is a faithful producer of a perfect daily egg. The other two? Not so much. One of the Jersey Giants, Medusa, has taken to hiding her eggs and the other, who we never named anything nice enough for “Polite Company” lays eggs so iffy, I won’t touch them. Thin shelled and often dented by her massive feet, they are relegated to a separate carton for the less fussy.
Recently, while visiting the feed store for canning supplies, I happened to peek in on the available chicks, as I always do. I wasn’t looking FOR chicks, I was looking at them. This clarification is important because they happened to have two Silver Laced Wyandotte’s, which they’ve never had. I won’t bore you with the wheeling and dealing that happened in order for me to get them firmly ensconced in a small vented take-out box, suffice it to say that the phrase “I’ll take care of them” was uttered more than once.
Once the new Wyandotte’s (Poodle and Stella) begin laying late next spring, Medusa and *%#@-Up Chicken can be put out to pasture for the rest of their natural chicken lives without me muttering about Fricassee every time I see them.