It is official.
Not only has summer arrived in full force, but the baby chicks have all left the building.
Our garage was starting to smell a little like a Foster Farms holding cell.
And very organic.
Our Bourbon Red turkeys are doing well. As far as we can tell, we have 2 hens and 3 toms. While I'm not sure, they just tip their heads and give me a blank stare when I ask. I've heard that even though turkeys are a social bird, they are pretty stupid. So in all fairness, they may not even know which is which.
I don't know if you've noticed, but my photo skills are amateur at best.
At worst, they are just bad.
Notice the date on the pics?
These were not taken in January. Unless I'm a little off on my days.
Which is entirely possible.
These are our young "teenager" chicks. They are finally able to free-range during the day.
At night, they are typical teenagers. We have to go find them and drag them back home.
I like them there too.
My rather ingenious Mister had to make up another chicken feeder since he had to add another room to the coop. The lid flips up and we are able to pour the feed in from above.
Not really sure how I'm going to keep the dishwater in the sink though.
We have had some major drama on the farm. Think "Murder She Wrote" mixed with a little "Days of Our Lives".
*cue sappy music*
This is Fiona. She has been wanting to become a mother for some time now. It has finally happened for her. In just a matter of days, she will be the proud momma to octuplets.
*cue villian music*
This is Drucilla. She can't have egglets of her own. She is barren.
And jealous of Fiona.
She is now in the holding area, otherwise known as death row, awaiting her fate in the morning.
Drucilla waited until Fiona got out of the nest to stretch, then jumped into the nest, pecked open an egg and ate the chick.
A jury of her peers found her guilty.
We have also started a new endeavor.
Actually, our adult daughter, Melissa, did. She got bunnies.
Which means that we got bunnies.
Meet Charley and Poppy.
Eventually, they will be in their own digs.
When we get tired of holding them.