We knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time, but since there are now eight little chickens in the coop, isolating the rascals, I mean, roosters, is tough. I heard two different weak crowing attempts, as they’re just stretching their wings, so to speak. But also literally. I saw feathers unfurled on two birds right after the crowing. Next problem: we have three brown and three white, so unless I’m an ornithologist armed with tags, how will I know which birds these were when I’m ready to get rid of them?
But first, I need to back up.
We took the last of the big roosters back to the Chicken Lady. Since it was full-grown, I was hoping for two small birds in exchange, but she only gave us one.
I texted the Chicken Lady: We have another rooster. He is a fine looking specimen… If I were a few decades younger and a hen… Anyway, could we just bring him back to you?
CL: Hahaha [laughing crying face] yes of course.
We arrived with roses from our garden to grease the skids, and she seemed delighted with them. When she saw the rooster she said, “Wow, that is a beautiful bird. You sure you don’t want to keep him?”
We didn’t, but I agreed. He truly was magnificent to behold. I honestly stared at him for a while, as his multi-hued plumage shimmered in the sunlight.
And then we gave him the boot.
In addition to the roses and rooster, we brought back one of the new chicks. Thanks to superb chicken sex-identifying advice from Jacqui of Word Dreams, Hubs and I spread the chicks’ wings to try to ID any potential roosters. One was for sure a hen–uneven wings, and one really seemed likely to be a rooster–even wings. The rest were a little unclear, so we decided to leave them for now and hope for the best.
I expected her to give us a new chick to swap out, but instead she gave us two. Not complaining. We’re back to ten birds after starting with seven, four of whom were roosters.
I woke up this morning to blissful silence.
Until another rooster crowed.
Make that five out of seven roosters. You don’t even want to know how much we’ve spent on chicken feed these past few months raising these useless birds. Sigh.
The son of my neighbor left his flip flops at my house, so I slipped on the mask to return them.
“Jim”, “Pam,” and son were outside admiring Jim’s new work truck when I walked up, slid the shoes onto the tailgate and backed away.
Before I explain what happened next, you should know that Pam and I had a long running joke involving me texting her the ninja emoji. It probably had to do with the time she let me sneak into her house for a cup of sugar.
What happened after this little shoe drop off is explained in this text I sent Pam soon after.