Vacay
I’m not really on vacation this week, Gentle Readers, but I am scrambling with a few things, and I wanted you to know that I’m still here and kickin’ and that I’ll return shortly to your regularly programmed blogging.
And . . . this blog post is dedicated to two people: my adorable daught Amalia, who mentioned quite innocently this week that I was probably incapable of writing a short blog post (as if!) and also for Gentle Reader Mark A., who made a wonderful comment on this post yesterday. I suspect that Mark and I are kindred spirits, and I totally wish I had some Amish neighbors, too, Mark. I know that Amalia and I are kindred spirits, which is a huge blessing.
Here’s Mark A.’s comment:
My wife and i laughed till we cried because it was describing me. After 3 years and 40 plus chickens, my lovely and indulgent co-conspirator in life informed me that something had to go. Meaning me or some chickens. Being a big strong male, i knew i could butcher them (i had no intention of leaving). Two hours after starting she found me with one dead chicken and eyes swollen shut from crying. Thank the lord for amish neighbors. I give them one for every 5 they dress out. No one though will ever touch my bantams. Your blog is a treat.
I drove nearly an hour to the butcher yesterday so I wouldn’t have to dispatch of these old hens and ornery roosters, myself. Call me a wimp if you like. It breaks my heart every year to do this, but it’s part of being a responsible chicken mama, especially if I add to my flock every year. Which I do. And especially if I don’t want to go broke feeding all these chooks. Which, I don’t.
The roosters look rough because they fight. All the time. The hens look fat because they eat. All the time. Bless them.
After the ordeal was over, (I’ll write about it later, when I’m not on Vacay) I was so rattled and a bit heartsick, too, and I drove off and left my chicken crates at the butcher. So now I will have to drive another hour (both ways) to retrieve my cages.
Bother.
That’s it. Can you believe it?
(Amalia: Boom!)
Oops! One more thing: I’m linking up to the Barn Hop over at The Prairie Homestead. Join me!
13 thoughts on “Vacay”
Leave a Reply
This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
OMG….Amy…I just read today’s post and of course, after you referenced the comment from Mark, I had to go back to that post as well. I am the now 66 year old (not almost anymore) female doing it all by myself on 26 acres in the Hill Country of central Texas. I never, ever comment on blog posts but this makes twice for one of yours which tells you who always manages to hit a sensitive spot with me! I will take that a step further and tell you that yours is far and away my favorite blog out there! Anyway, after reading today’s post and then yesterday’s I had to tell you and Mark what happened to me. I probably have a little bigger coop/barn than you do but I also had too many birds, especially the bossy bulling geese. I was getting way more eggs every day than one person could possibly use and couldn’t give them away fast enough. Soooo, I decided that I would run an ad and sell some of the chickens, geese and ducks since I knew I would not be able to butcher them myself and probably would not be able to eat anything that had a name. (That was my first mistake…naming them all) I sold 22 chickens, 5 roosters and 2 ducks to the first person who called. And as they drove off with MY birds, I was literally begging them to bring them back. (Not literally, just in my head, but still…) that was a week ago and I still cry every time I go down to the barn because Stella and Sparkle and Trixie and the Golden Girls, etc., etc. aren’t running out to meet me to see what kind of delicious treats I am bringing them from the garden. I actually have this vision of getting up one morning and a line of chickens will be walking down my lane, coming back home to give me a 2nd chance. Well today a very nice gentleman came and bought two of my female geese and I humiliated myself by CRYING when we loaded them up. Okay…so maybe I am not cut out for this?
OH Donna, I do think you are cut out for this. Think what a blessing you are to those lucky birds and animals that you dote on. And what an excellent example you provide to others. What a lovely life you give them, and then when you have to pare down the flock. . . you are careful when you find homes for them. I hate to tell you what I’ve heard of some people do about their unwanted animals and birds. In fact, I won’t tell you, because with your soft heart you’ll not sleep tonight for worrying over them. Suffice it to say . . . don’t be embarrassed by your tender heart. It is a beautiful thing.
Such a short post, so I’ll leave a short comment. I can hardly wait until you share some chicken recipes with us.
Thank you Chef! When it’s a bit cooler, I’ll start cooking hot foods again (hehee) and one of my first ones will be chicken and herb dumplings. Deal?
My heart bleeds for you, Amy. You are a much stronger woman than I am. I just can’t get rid of them! Yesterday I had to bury another of my girls – Wendy – and my heart cried all the time I was digging her grave and then having to cover her up. She is my seventh girl I have had to bury. You see, after they started laying eggs, they all came to me and we discussed the matter quite thoroughly which culminated in a nice retirement package for them. Here is the agreement: If I keep them around, they promise – not necessarily to keep laying eggs – but to keep making fertilizer for my garden. We shook on the deal (well, they pecked on my pant leg) and now, this fall, I need to convert one of my buildings around here into another chicken coop for the young ones. You see, the present group of chickie baby ladies are barely keeping up with the garden fertilizing program and I would like to enlarge my garden. The more chickies I have, the bigger my garden can grow! So when I lose one, I lose a pooping machine…not good! It’s time to call in the new troops to help out my present poop machines.
Oh Mari. I’d keep many more of mine, too, if my coop wasn’t so modest in size. As it is, poor hubby is already so overworked that I dare not ask him for a coop extension. Maybe when we can afford to hire a man to help out around here . . . the manure for the garden is indeed very valuable!
I’ve said it once, but I will say it again, this Challenge is a major eye-opener and has definitely taken me to worlds so far from my own. Fascinating! Thank you so much for a chicken lesson. HUGS <3
Thanks for stopping by, Judy!
My mom won’t eat chicken for the same reason. Dropping by from UBC
Even after 28 years, I still remember some of my girls. Many of them did end up being taken (by my spouse, true) to a…um, processing place in a nearby town so I wouldn’t have to do “the deed”. Others had their retirement package – my blue Andalusian, my Silver Spangled Hamburg, my Polish. We never did name any chickens – well, except for an ornery rooster with Americauna blood my spouse called Chicken Crow-quette (eventually, that was his fate, after he attacked spouse once too often). If I had had a Sparkle or a Trixie or a set of Golden Girls, I never could have choked down the chicken soup or whatever eventually became of most of them.
Our named chickens also get a FREE PASS, Alana.
I couldn’t do that, I’d become way too attached to them!
You’re much braver than me!
Nice blog shard by you. this Challenge is a major eye-opener and has definitely taken me to worlds so far from my own. Fascinating! Thank you so much for a chicken lesson. thanks for this post….