Meet the girls. Eleven Leghorn pullets. (That's teenage chickens to the layman.)
This is Hank. He is not a purebred Leghorn; he may not even be a Leghorn at all. The transaction went like this:Sweet Little Old Lady From Whom We Got the Chickens: Would you like a rooster, too?
Me: Sure. Is he a Leghorn?
SSLOLFWWGTC: No, he's a rooster.
Me: Oh. What breed?
SSLOLFWWGTC: Oh, he's a good old guy.
Me: How old is he?
SSLOLFWWGTC: Just a year.
I quit asking questions after that.
Does his breed look familiar to anyone? I suspect that he is a mutt.
I can't even begin to tell you how ridiculously proud of myself I am for building this nesting box/table this morning. The bottom part enclosed in white is where our new kittens will live when we get them in a week or so.
Check out the contents of the nesting boxes. Booyah!
I even installed this perch made from an old ladder.I. Rock.
You may commence basking in my awesomeness.
4 comments:
I will "Basque" in your awesomeness, which involves the always celebratory castration of sheep with my teeth.
Wait. That doesn't sound fun at all.
I have elected to instead make awed noises, thus:
OOOOOO, Ahhhhhhh, Wow...
So classy. Unless someone has seen that particular episode of Dirty Jobs they won't know what you're talking about.
Ewww.
Uh, I knew that before I saw dirty jobs. Idaho has the largest population of Basque people outside of their indigenous region in Spain. Cristina knows.
Thank you for the short lesson on my people, Em. :)
And just for the record.... when my dad moved here from Spain 47 years ago, he had to work as a sheepherder for a couple of years while he saved up money to buy a house and learned to speak English. And he says he NEVER did that whole dental-assisted castration.
(That's not to say I haven't, though...)
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