Friday, May 8, 2009
We had roast chicken last night for dinner. It was a chickeny chicken, the kind the Coop likes to sell, with some dark feather quills in it that I had to pull out and a lot of skin, and was just very intensely... a chicken. Or am I getting sensitized?
When I told my daughter we were having chicken for dinner, she gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth. "Mom! We can't eat chicken! Now that we have chicks we can never eat chicken!"
That's not exactly what I had in mind. Already it's seeming like my plans to possibly slaughter any chicken that turns out to be a rooster, are looking a little far-fetched. Here are some sample comments:
"Scrambles knows me. She totally likes me."
"I can't wait til the chicks learn their names!"
"I LOOOOVVVVE Sunset!"
"I love our chicks."
"I'll eat bacon. Bacon's good. But I'm not eating chicken.... I don't KNOW any pigs. Now I KNOW chickens. When are we having lamb again?"
There's a discussion on backyardchickens.com about psychologically preparing yourself for slaughtering your chickens. People who have whole flocks of meat birds are realizing it's hard to do. Some of them have slaughtered their chickens and then been unable to eat them.
I liked one method I heard about -- you take the chicken to one of the Chinese or Halal butchers. Ten minutes and $2.50 later you walk out with a bag of plucked chicken parts.
Anyway, I heard back from the hatchery. They're not sure but they're guessing Scrambles is an Easter Egger! I really hope she is! I was so wishing we'd gotten some Easter Eggers-- these are the mongrel breed of chickens that lay blue and green eggs.
Here's what's going on in the brooder.
We built the chicks a little palapa, and they love it.
The are so smart, they are learning to roost, and are really good, even wantonly enthusiastic, about scratching. They scratch the shit out of whatever in on the ground, spraying pine chips or feed every where.