Prince Eric and his princess, Kimberly

Prince Eric has been with us since he was hatched out by the broody hen last April. He has grown into a fine young rooster who manages to coexist with Pretty Boy--our original rooster, probably because the young'uns keep pretty much to themselves. For some weeks they liked to hang around in the relative security of the home pasture, but the advent of growing pups being pastured there and the visit by the chicken hawk now finds them moved.

More often they'll be outside the home pasture, sometimes within the vicinity of Pretty Boy and his gals (and Lawrence, our guinea cock) but far enough away to pose no threat. All the chickens like to shadow the horses for what better treat can one want on a chilly day (or in summer on a warm day) than a steaming fresh pile of horse manure? After all horses don't fully digest the grain, so the steaming piles are rather like a bowl of oatmeal might be for a person. Warm, grain-filled, goodness.

Now, we don't tend to name the chickens as a rule because we cannot tell them apart. Pretty Boy came with his name and it fit until the young roo began to look fresher and prettier. We didn't want to have two Pretty Boys but with all that finery what were we to call him? Somehow Prince came to mind and the name stuck. Now that his sole remaining hen has begun to lay eggs, he needed a more complete name. Both Todd and Eric were bandied about (we want Prince to be a compassionate male and he doesn't have any hair, like our friends Todd and Eric); somehow Eric stuck. And there you have the story of Prince Eric.

Prince Eric can be a tad comical now that he's begun to crow. In the photo (above) he has his ruff fluffed up and his neck arched as he prepares to sound off. As pretty as he is, I am still used to Pretty Boy doing the crowing and find Prince Eric's efforts amusing--and fun to watch. The way his young feathers glisten and gleam, why Pretty Boy must be feeling like an old fart around this young cock.

In the last photo is Kimberly, the only survivor of the half-dozen Buff Orpington pullets we purchased at the Farmer's Co-op in April. Her sisters fell prey to dogs, hawks, and possibly coyotes, as did the pullet chicks hatched out with Prince. Kimberly got her name because she is young, pretty, agile, and full of promise--like a former colleague's athletic daughter Kimberly. A few days ago I found her nesting in the hay placed in the hay rack on the wall of Spencer-the-young-alpaca's stall. She held her place even as I gently added more hay to the rack, but after she had disappeared I reached up and found one nicely-shaped medium-sized egg. You go, Kimberly!

I want to get more young'uns to keep this pair company, but I keep putting this off until I can get a chicken tractor built--something I never seem to find time to finish. Hang in there, kids, company's coming.