There was a time, after seeing our egg lady's new chicks, that Precious prayed all the way home for some chickens. After that, she was absolutely positive that God was going to get her some chickens. Who can argue with a positive confession like that?
A couple of months ago, New Daddy had researched chickens and decided to buy some bantams for the kids. In particular: Bantam Silkies. They're the cute little ones with soft, tufted feathers, feathers on their feet, and poofy, afro-like wigs on their heads.
And then, this morning, somehow our Saturday snuggle-chat-in-bed with the kids turned to the subject of chickens. I told New Daddy about a tractor/coop that Poppy had made for Uncle B and Aunt Mo that she had offered to me this week. It didn't work very well on their sloping land, but would be perfect for our more level lot.
And so today, we drove to Uncle B's house, picked up the tractor, drove to the feed store, where we picked up feed and a water dispenser, and then arrived at the chicken lady's house about five minutes from our house. There, we purchased a blue rooster, a blue laying hen, a partridge layer, and two black pullets, which we hope are also hens. Five chickens, in total, all silkies.
The kids are thrilled with their new pets, and Precious is in my room with a pullet right now. I hope it makes it back to the cage. Okay, it did. There is a constant debate over who is the real farmer around here. Thank goodness, there are five chickens, and there are five of us: one for everybody. Cutie squeals at them, and Bubby was proud of himself for touching one. Precious is still giving the pullets a tour of the house, one at a time.
New Daddy's saw is running downstairs, and his hammer is banging. He's making a small ramp for the bantams to get up to their ladder in the tractor. There, we'll enclose them for the night. And, here I am, blogging about them.
Are we crazy, or what?
A couple of months ago, New Daddy had researched chickens and decided to buy some bantams for the kids. In particular: Bantam Silkies. They're the cute little ones with soft, tufted feathers, feathers on their feet, and poofy, afro-like wigs on their heads.
And then, this morning, somehow our Saturday snuggle-chat-in-bed with the kids turned to the subject of chickens. I told New Daddy about a tractor/coop that Poppy had made for Uncle B and Aunt Mo that she had offered to me this week. It didn't work very well on their sloping land, but would be perfect for our more level lot.
And so today, we drove to Uncle B's house, picked up the tractor, drove to the feed store, where we picked up feed and a water dispenser, and then arrived at the chicken lady's house about five minutes from our house. There, we purchased a blue rooster, a blue laying hen, a partridge layer, and two black pullets, which we hope are also hens. Five chickens, in total, all silkies.
The kids are thrilled with their new pets, and Precious is in my room with a pullet right now. I hope it makes it back to the cage. Okay, it did. There is a constant debate over who is the real farmer around here. Thank goodness, there are five chickens, and there are five of us: one for everybody. Cutie squeals at them, and Bubby was proud of himself for touching one. Precious is still giving the pullets a tour of the house, one at a time.
New Daddy's saw is running downstairs, and his hammer is banging. He's making a small ramp for the bantams to get up to their ladder in the tractor. There, we'll enclose them for the night. And, here I am, blogging about them.
Are we crazy, or what?
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