Houston…we have lost containment
I woke up to my rooster being extra vocal because it was Sunday and sunny and he wanted us all to know what a fine day it was…at 6:30 am. I am sure all my neighbors were equally thrilled to get the news (update...my neighbors are really, really nice and told me they did not hear a thing. Eggs on the doorstep coming up!). That butt head’s days are becoming numbered. The crowing is increasing and he has been getting aggressive when I go out to get eggs. The thing about roosters is that they are irrational and they are cowards. They don’t come at you head on. They wait until your back is turned to take a run at you. We have a peck me and I eat you rule that is strictly enforced. Handsome out there is about to meet my husband the executioner.
After trying to ignore the crowing for two hours I finally conceded defeat and got up. I instantly heard the chicks in my spare bedroom all a-chirping. This is not really unusual since by morning they have invariably dumped over and/or soiled all food and water I left them with before I went to bed.
What was unusual was that when I went in there I found a turkey running (and probably crapping) around in the room. Catching said turkey is not nearly as entertaining as it would have been after my morning coffee. I still can’t figure out how the little turd got out of the box. It is tall and it is sitting on a wooden bed platform. So he got out of the box and off the platform without any apparent injury. Turkeys grow really fast and don’t even roost. They can’t even do the little bit of flying that chickens can muster. Turkeys make chickens seem like astrophysicists. I am pleasantly surprised he did not find a new and exciting way to off himself as a grand finale to his adventure.
It is the first sign that the chicks are nearing the end of their stench filled stay in the house. I’ll give them two more weeks then we see how many survive the big yard.
Game on.
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