photograph by Audrey Pavia
My threebaby chickswhen they were still slight , glance out from momma ’s breast .
I was outside this good morning doing chores when I looked over at the lawn where my flock ofchickenswas pile up . For a minute , I could n’t say the hens from the pullets . That ’s when I understand that my“babies”were almost full - grown .
I think human fry grew up fast , but this is gaga . It was only a few month ago that they were piffling , flyspeck , fuzzy peeper . Liberty was all - white and had to be rescue on her first Nox of living because she could n’t make it up the 3 - in sass of the coop entrance . chirp pitiably , I found her huddle together up against a corner , cold and frightened .
Today , that same bird is nearly the size of it of her mother . No longer snowy - white like a baby hawk , she is dark - gray .
And then there is the full-grown wench , which is so far nameless . She is the size of her female parent . Black with blank spots , she ’s a darker version of her aunt , Baby Jo .
Maybelline — the orange and black frier — is the most coloured of the three and is right between the other two in size . I interest that Maybelline may be aroosterbecause she has the biggest wattles of the three . But I keep referring to her as a “ she ” in the hopes I can literally will her into being the “ correct ” gender .
As I see these three pullet walking around with the other chickens and looking like grown - ups , I am still reminded of their tender eld by the sounds they make . They retain topeep peep cheep , just like they did as very young wench . I wonder when they will give this up and begin stimulate self-aggrandising - doll noise ?
as luck would have it for me , the three youngsters like to roost on the outdoor sharpness of the coop at night , when the mountain puts itself to bed . This gives me an excuse to pluck them up and hold them for a consequence before setting them down inside the coop , on the roosting pole . They ab initio object to this , but have now gotten used to it . I doubt they will ever be the types to volitionally let me plow them when the sun in struggle , but at least they wo n’t have the fear I see in my two leghorn hen , who were never care as doll .
One odd matter that pops into my head every so often as I watch these three go about their business : Had I choose to take those three eggs and use them for an omelette , the three little lives I see before me would not exist . That ease up me an uncomfortable feeling of power that I could certainly do without at breakfast time .
Read more of City Stock »
