Can't Help Myself

I have no excuse for getting more chickens.  I certainly don't need more eggs.  The fact of the matter is that I just love chickens.  I resisted as long as possible after the "Chicks are in" sign went up at the feed store.  The chick cages are downstairs and I forced myself not to go there, knowing that if I saw them, I'd want them.  I thought I'd made it past the crisis when Cam called, "Dave's got a really good price on chicks that are old enough to have their feathers."  It's an advantage to get older babies; they're not as prone to weaken early and, let's face it, it doesn't cost as much in chick mash when they're close to being put outside on regular feed.  I'd had such success with the red sex-link hens from a couple of years ago, strong birds and good producers.  Hmmm.  I weakened.  I called and asked Patrick if they had any red sex-links.  "Yes, but we call them red layers."  "Do you have any Araucanas?"  "No, not this year, but we've got white leghorns and brown (I forgot what)."  Okay, I'll admit it, I'm addicted.  "Save me four of the reds, two whites and two browns."  Getting only eight showed great restraint!  I picked them up yesterday.

Once again, the laundry room has turned into a nursery.  This is Ralph and Celeste's first experience with resident birds, but Bessie Anne is an old hand at the game.  After initial curiosity, the cats seem to have lost interest.  I so enjoy hearing the cheeps and trills from these busy babies.  It won't be long until I move them out to the protected yard and Taj Mahal until they're big enough to put in with the flock.

It was a good day.

Happy birthday to my son, Pete!!