Chicken Soup Weather

Raw apple cider vinegar for the chickens' water.

With the chill of late fall upon us, I'm itching to pull out the crock pot and have warm stock ready at any time of day. Heeding the advice of the Bragg family, I added some of their raw apple cider vinegar (ACV) to the water of those few chickens we keep in the kennel. According to the Braggs, some ACV in the water for five days before slaughter will made a tough, older free-range bird into one for which diners will ask for repeat helpings. I was willing to give this remedy to tough poultry a try.

With a few tablespoons of ACV added to the birds' fresh water each day, we figured that they would be table ready within a week, but then did not get around to slaughtering a hen for nearly two weeks. When the time came to sample the meat, I was pleasantly surprised at the moist and tender nature of it. Of course, we usually slaughter roosters, who are said to be tougher, so it may not be a fair comparison. But, this hen produced some tasty meat for chicken salad.

Chicken Salad

chopped chicken

chopped celery

chopped grapes

onion, chopped fine

plain yogurt

tumeric

fresh ground pepper

Paulina is Growing

Miss Paulina with a crunchy leaf.

 Miss Paulina alpaca is growing to be a sweet girl. Now a month old, she comes up to sniff at me or be briefly petted before moving on to more serious business--generally nursing because if I am sitting still in their stall, I must have delivered fresh grain for her dam, who will then be occupied enough to allow a long suckle without complaint. Van is a good mother, always taking better care of her cria that herself, but Paulina is old enough now that she will not always stand still lengthy bouts of nursing.

This year's chick, now an adolescent.

Much older than Paulina is this year's surviving chick, who appears to be a pullet--or young hen. Yay! After the year of a multitude of surviving roosters, any young hen is to be celebrated. And since this year's crop of chicks mostly were hatched out in the barn shortly after the cats had been retrained to report there for meals, well, let's just say none of those chicks grew much.

They're never too young to learn the rules.

Indeed, when some of Kimberly hen's first-hatched brood piled out of their nest last June to explore the great world around them, I did my best to instill a sense of responsibility among some of them (see photo) as I rounded the hatchlings up. I daresay, though, I do a better job with young humans.

Paulina is ever alert to the wonders of her world.

Anyway, as we celebrate our pullet and Miss Paulina, a week of hard-freezes has given all of our herd animals fuller, fluffier coats. The alpacas and goats are enjoying the crunchy taste of autumn leaves as much as the Great Pyrenees dogs are enjoying the earthy scent as similar piles of leaves crunch beneath their bodies when they lie to sleep, watch or simply to roll in the leaves.

Fall is such a beautiful season!

Broody Hens & First Hatched Chick

A broody hen sitting in a shipping crate with Pretty Boy the old rooster by her side.

With the overabundance of roosters we have running around this farm, many of our hens appear to be oversexed. By that I mean they sport naked "saddles" on their backs from the frequent mountings by multiple males. Although the Dominicker hens are nearly fully feathered, I've noticed their rooster has stopped being vigilant about being their sole mate; the New Jersey x Rhode Island cross roosters are in on the act these days. Only the flock that revolves around the barn--with its young rooster--appears immune from the flurry of overzealous breeding.

A broody hen inside a dog crate in the yard.

As such, I imagine that the hens who have gone broody, mostly the old Jersey Black hens, find their stint atop the nest affords them a time for healing a bit, too. Not that most appear to be regaining any feathers in the worn-away patches, but the hen who has ensconced herself in the dog crate out front--she is showing some new feathering on her back. I would like to see such progress on the hens who have settled on clutches in the various shipping box planters still available to them.

Kimberly hen with her first chick of the year.

When I stepped into the end stall of the barn this afternoon, I heard Kimberly hen--the Buff Orpington--cooing in the corner feed tub she's taken over in the middle stall. Pursuing the sound, I found her fluffed wide to hide new young from my prying eyes. A "cheep, cheep" emitting from beneath her feathers confirmed my suspicions, so I hung around a bit and soon was able to glimpse our first chick of the season.

LaLa Goose sits atop her secluded nest.

With all the broody hens about, I periodically check each of the four nests I have discovered, we are hoping for a bumper crop of chicks this season. LaLa Goose is also hoping for her eggs to hatch; however, there will be no goslings in her future as this is her second spring without a gander by her side. She has done a nice job of feathering her nest over behind the riding lawnmower. Although I gathered the better part of a dozen goose eggs before she began sitting on her nest, I have chosen to respect her maternal instincts--even though those goose eggs make marvelous meals for the dogs.

Cannibalistic Chickens

Biscuit treat: an egg wearing the yolk of its predecessor.

Those white Leghorn chickens have become problematic. Not only did they kill one of their own a while back, but now they have begun eating their eggs--regularly. The three white eggs we should be collecting per day have dwindled. Some days we get one; many days we get none at all.

I suppose it is my fault. By sometimes dropping an egg though the chain link between the hens and Biscuit, the kenneled livestock guardian, I allowed them to get a taste for eggs by reaching through the mesh. Although I noticed it at the time, I did not realize that I was actually helping them to acquire a taste for eggs.

Now even if I wanted to let them free-range with the other birds, I fear that this would put the rest of our egg harvest at risk--so they will remain caged, although I do hope to transfer them to a pasture-based chicken tractor soon.

Cock o' the Walk

The rooster in question pauses to survey the land before proceeding into the pasture.

One of the younger roosters, he is about two years old now, keeps tabs on the hens that roost near the barn. Kimberly hen, the surviving Buff Orpington hen from a lot we picked up nearly three years ago now; one or two of the Jersey Black hens; and the scruffy, scrappy mixed-breed hen that raised the only brood that made it last year comprise this fellow's flock.

At dusk, the lot of them settle in and around the hay trough in the home pasture, and on the tree branches beside it. I am happier when they roost in the tree branches because I fail to appreciate hen poop in the hay; however, they tend to settle as they wish, without thinking to consult me about my preferences.

I enjoy watching the roosters tend to their little bands of hens. Together the rooster and his hens will roam the farm from the edge of the highway back to behind the barn in the course of a day. Pecking and scratching, they turn the earth tirelessly seeking the choicest tidbits the earth has to offer. Each unit is industrious independently of the other flocks.

Cleanup Crew

A cleanup crew standing by for work.

Nature is so amazingly efficient. Every plant, every animal, every atom has a role. Death and decomposition are not ends, but simply an arc in the circle of life. When we humans harvest crops--plant or animal--we absorb nutrients and process mass through our intestines. When Nature harvests, she sends her own cleanup crews. Now when I look across a landscape and spot vultures circling, I no longer see the darkness and ugliness once associated with death. Now I see Nature's workers, stepping in to play their role in the incredible cycle of birth, life, death, and regeneration. This web of life, this partnered dance with its myriad players, it is all beautiful; these are miracles woven by God through nature.

Eggs-in-waiting

Yesterday I had the opportunity to process the second hen of my farming career. As before, her life was taken by other animals; she's too valuable alive for us to kill so early in her life. Again I was amazed by the quantity of ova, all lined up, waiting their turn in the egg production cycle. Each a perfect sphere, neatly encased in tissue, a ball of color and life-in-the-making. For lunch I treated myself to the freshest of meals, these yolks, the soft-shelled egg, and the most delectable liver, cooked gently in a cast iron pan with chopped tomato and a splash of olive oil. The taste was enough to bring a smile of satisfaction that lasted throughout the afternoon. She was a good hen.

I am so thankful for the rich multitude of gifts we get to open daily, living here on our little farm.

Soup's On

Morning sunlight reveals this hen is guilty as charged.

This morning when I went out to the yard, I found that the Leghorn chickens had killed one of their own. This did not really surprise me because one of the hens has sported a bloody throat on and off (mostly off) for a few weeks now; however, it did irritate me. These white egg layers have been consistently producing jumbo size eggs, even through the winter months, so we're sorry to lose a good laying hen.

This hen was caught red-feathered, as it were.

On the bright side, the night had been quite cool so I had no qualms about picking up the hen to pluck her for our stew pot. Given the sub-freezing temperature, several of her feathers resisted plucking and I'm afraid that it will be easiest and quickest to simply skin her before cooking. Now that I understand that animal fats are good for us to eat, especially the tasty ones--chicken skin, bacon, butter from unpasteurized cream--I resent losing this tasty treat, but it won't go to waste. Someone will get to eat it.

Mmm mmm, chicken is on today's Sunday dinner menu.

Poultry at Roost

Poultry at roost for the night.

When twilight approaches, the chickens promptly settle in to roost. One small flock settles in the home pasture near where the goats and alpacas share a hay rack. Since a tree came down in a storm some months ago, they have--thankfully--left off roosting in the hay rack, and now settle onto the branches crowding around it. Another flock settles along the edges of shipping crates turned to planting beds. The two groups of caged poultry settle across the perches provided for them. The birds are all so pretty,I cannot help but to admire them when we cross paths.

The Dominickers at roost in their chicken tractor.

The little Dominicker flock--I'm not even sure it qualifies as a "flock" with just two hens and their rooster--seems content in their little chicken tractor. Each time I move the contraption, I admire how the birds more right along with it, eagerly rushing forward to their new patch of ground if they are awake, or riding their roosting rail unperturbed in the evening. Better design ideas come to mind when we encounter a snag, usually a corner gets hung up on a rock and the end fasteners give way or simply threaten to do so.

I did shop for pre-fab chicken tractors, but found that all the good ones are priced fairly, and the cheap ones appear to be made of cedar--which is toxic to poultry, I understand. (Say what, that's a cedar branch upon which the Dominickers are clustered? That's true, but only because cedar abounds in these parts and the hens choose to roost in live cedar trees from time to time anyway. Most of the time they spend scratching about on the ground anyway.) Until I get busy creating another, most of our hens will continue to free-range unencumbered by "protective" fencing.

Our Dominickers' Tractor

The Dominickers are now grass; two hens and their roo.

Our Dominicker chickens have moved into the finally-completed chicken tractor. With only one cockerel and two hens, our little homemade enclosure is sufficient at about forty square feet. (Densely packed, I believe the current norm is to allot two square feet per bird; leaving hardly enough room to turn around comfortably without bumping into a wall or another chicken.)

The black-and-white Dominicker chicken is, as I understand it, considered the oldest American heritage breed, descended as they are from English stock transported to the English Colonies in America. Understandably, the breed is also known as the Pilgrim chicken. They lay brown eggs and appear to be husky enough to serve as a decent meat bird also.

These three birds are better off being out of the kennel. True, they have less space--both horizontally and vertically--but they can now scratch in the grass, leaves and earth for tasty tidbits. I slide the tractor to new ground daily, sometimes more often. Although at first I waited until they were roosting to move the structure, when the distance to be covered is simply the length of the tractor unit the chickens move along with their housing without appearing to be upset.

Currently they have a half dog crate to use for shelter from weather. The hens sometimes choose to lay their eggs under the shelter, but sometimes they lay their eggs just outside the door to the shelter. In the not-too-distant future, I plan to replace the plastic half-shell with some sort of nesting area that is raised up off of the ground.

For now, I am just glad to have them on natural ground while at once enclosed in a predator-proof corral. When they are scratching in the earth, they appear to be in their element--and for that I am happy.

Building a Chicken Tractor

The tractor-in-progress, as we left it today.

Today we began building our first chicken tractor. That would be Me and my right-hand helpers, Myself and I. Since we've been thinking on the topic frequently of late, we stopped at Home Depot yesterday to scout out materials. We had not planned to buy because we had left the little farm truck at home; however, the opportunity presented itself.

Our way of joining pieces was crude, but effective.

When we wandered into the chain-link fence section of the store, we stopped to consider the already-fashioned gates. Lo and behold, there we encountered two small gates on clearance, marked down from around $54.00 to $13.50 each. Thus, we determined that these would supply the run's end sides. Even though we thought the rest of the materials would not actually fit in the car, we went ahead and purchased four of the 10'6" connecting poles for chain-link fencing hoping that we could manage it with the long ends hanging out a window. (That worked.) After finding an assortment of hardware we checked out and headed home.

Poultry netting wired onto the frame provides stability.

Today we worked at connecting the pieces. Making the frame was no easy task. Even though we had our work-crew of three, with only one physical body we found balancing the pieces difficult. Once the frame had been fashioned, I found some chicken wire, pardon me, some poultry netting with which to wrap the outside. Although we did not finish the tractor today, we were able to install two courses of netting--enough to stabilize the structure, and a couple of roosting poles for the birds. Hopefully we will finish the project tomorrow. If not, then sometime in the near future. I would really like to get those chickens out of the kennel and onto fresh ground soon.

One conclusion we reached through this exercise was that perhaps the prices of ready-made chicken tractors are more reasonable than we had at first thought. I'll be surfing the web later on to see if our second tractor will be purchased as a complete unit at the outset.

Fresh Eggs are Scrumptious

Hens chatting on a fence rail beside the barn.

Yesterday I had occasion to speak with my friend Josh. Familiar with Publix supermarkets as he is, Josh informed me that his household has switched to buying their eggs from Publix because Publix eggs taste better than any other store-bought eggs they have tried. He went on to explain that Publix is careful to only purchase their eggs from farms where the hens may range freely about the place. How cool is that?

Our hens range freely (except for the few temporarily caught up in the kennel). The eggs they provide for us are delicious: the color is always rich, the yolks are firm, and the flavor is nothing short of scrumptious. Luckily for me, I no longer recall how store-bought eggs taste.

I'm interested that the Publix eggs are advertised as being from hens fed an "all-natural, organic diet" consisting of "four different types of grain." Left alone, most farm animals are not naturally consumers of grain, or at least not in the quantities fed by farmers. Our goal is to raise our chickens on greens (and grubs, bugs, and anything else that catches their fancy). Indeed, those few caged birds--when given both grain and greens simultaneously--seem to prefer the green plants over the grain seeds.

Kenneled poultry awaiting delivery of new greens.

Soon I hope to have a chicken tractor built, a type of mobile chicken shelter, that will allow our hens to roam and feed on pasture while at once being protected from predators--and keeping our multiple roosters separated. Just over a week ago I had occasion to visit Meadow Mist Farm in eastern Massachusetts, where I saw their large mobile chicken cage. Designed of metal hoops, chicken wire, shade cloth, and bent runners for ease of transport, their structure caught my fancy. Although theirs is large enough to possibly require a tractor to move it, I hope to design ours such that one person (or horse or goat) can shuttle it from place to place, while still allowing the hens plenty of room to roam inside.

Living outside of city limits as we do, we are blessed with the riches Nature provides. Thank you, Lord, for all of these gifts--and most certainly for the eggs!

The New Hens are Laying

The new poultry with their nest box and personal livestock guardian.

Our new hens are laying. The first egg we found was a medium-size standard new pullet egg, with a brown shell. Since the new hens and their roos are still confined to a kennel run, I thought it would be nice to provide them with nest boxes. Using the hose, I finished cleaning out the waiting boxes, and after they had drained all day in the sunshine, I lugged a set to the coop and set them atop a pair of logs cut to fireplace length. Lined with a few hands full of hay remnants from the horse pasture, the boxes were set to go.

Recently, when our neighbor's hens abandoned their old nest boxes and moved into the "Chicken Hilton," a very fancy coop with its own fenced yard, I happened to be in the right place at the right time and managed to adopt the two rows of nest boxes. Barbara, a fellow Wilson County Master Gardener and a fine friend, helped me lug them to my truck and told me their history. The pinkish-painted boxes had come to their farm after having served time as book shelves at a local preschool center. A former teacher well-used to scavenging for classroom book shelves, I found the re-homing of the fixtures to farms well-suited to my current life and liked them all the more for their history.

The next time I checked on the hens, one of our white hens had deposited a jumbo size white egg in one of the nest boxes. Since these are young hens, or pullets, I expected that they would all begin by laying small and medium size eggs, but I was wrong. Over the past week we've collected two more white eggs, both jumbo size.

Thanks hens; keep up the good work. We enjoy dining on egg-and-vegetable scrambles frequently, and love the late-season gleanings that provide all varieties of color in those meals. In exchange, I make sure that those caged hens get plenty of fresh greens each day. We will move them onto pasture in time; I would like to see them ranging freely, but still separated from the other breeds of poultry.

Growing Poultry

The new arrivals.

In mid-September we sold Miss Lissamy Lucy, our APHA mare that moved here in late 2008; part of the exchange included new poultry. After Lucy left, we had six new hens and two more roosters. I had not wanted the roosters because we have so many, but was glad to have them when I realized they are breed specific. (Some days I just do not think very far ahead.)

The one of the roos and two of the hens are Domeneckers, black-and-white birds that produce brown eggs. The other rooster and his four hens are all white and produce white eggs; the farmer with whom I traded could not specify the breed. I wondered if they might be leghorns (like the big white rooster from the cartoons of my youth), but he did not know. All of the bird were a tad scrawny upon arrival. They appeared healthy enough, but I could see why the farmer wanted to be rid of them (nearly as badly as we wanted to be rid of a horse).

The day they arrived, we ousted the roos that had too-long awaited the pot. (We would eat them faster if we did not have to deal with the killing and cleaning to do so.) That made life among the free-rangers pretty lively for a few days, as the multitude of roosters established a pecking order. Their challenges to one another are beautiful to watch, especially since they don't take their fights to the level of game hen fights. Game hens fight to the death.

The "new guys" have settled in nicely.

This evening I took a look at the newcomers. They have plumped up nicely. Soon I will have to move them from the dog kennel, but first I need to figure where to place them. We recently inherited some nice nesting boxes from a neighbor down the road. (Their hens have moved into what they refer to as the Chicken Hilton, a very fancy new hen house they built.) I need to scrub them out and set them up for use here.

Each morning and evening I enjoy interacting with our avian residents. LaLa Goose comes when called, pretty well, because she knows a call is generally followed by fresh vegetables or fruit. A friend was passing along his overabundance of over-ripe cucumbers for a time, and the birds loved those. I developed a method of throwing the fresh feed down onto the driveway, effectively splitting open the fruit or vegetable, and the birds flock to enjoy the spoils. Currently they're enjoying pears gleaned from our new friend Opal, who has enough pears that she is ready to throw them over a fence to rot. We enjoy the bags and bags she sends, and we share the green pears with the horses and the overripe pears with the birds.

LaLa eats her spoils from the heart to the rind.

Everybody is happy. We are blessed with abundance this season.

Managing in the Heat

Our herd sire and dairy queen hide in the shade on a July morning.

Managing in the heat this month has been a challenge for everyone. During the heat of the day most of the animals disappear into the shade--under a building overhang, beneath a vehicle, in the cool of the woods--and only venture out late in the day.

Heat stress leaves Marcie, our dairy queen, panting heavily by mid-morning. Heat stress caused, I believe, one of our alpacas to miscarry. Although I did not find a fetus, she transitioned from clearly pregnant to clearly barren overnight. Heat stress even finds the hens panting when I encounter them about the yard.

The only creatures who appear immune to the heat are the guineas. We appear to be down to two now, but those two can be seen busily scooting about the property--crossing fields back and forth, and popping out and back over fences--with their heads down. They are always focused on their work which they take very seriously. I guess, then, we can credit them for the relative lack of ticks we have about the farm of late. It's always nice to be able to do tick checks without finding any offenders attached.

The alpacas and goats down a tub of water laced with cherry-flavored electrolytes daily. While the container stipulates that the electrolyte-water be the only source of water provided to the animals, I ignore that directive. The ruminants drink it dry daily, even though they have access to a number of automatic watering troughs around their pastures.

If only one could capture and bottle the summer's heat, to be taken out and savored midwinter. Now that would be a treat worth canning and preserving!

Chicks at Last!

Our first sighting of 2011 chicks appeared in late June.

So far this year we have not seen young chicks about the farm. After last year's steady stream of new broods following Kimberly, one of our few named hens, we found the absence of chicks unusual. Aside from the intense periods of heat we have had, I cannot imagine what has changed for the hens. In fact, we have a good four or five broody hens this season. "Broody" refers to a hen who dedicates her days to incubating a clutch of eggs, nurturing a new brood of soon-to-be hatchlings.

This afternoon I finally spied one of last year's hens hiding an interesting assortment of chicks in the green growth just outside the barn. The chicks are differently colored and patterned, making a pretty brood beside their guardian mama hen.

My only concern for this new brood is their lack of safe hiding places. Since a recent storm dropped trees across the home pasture fences, the dogs and goats can readily travel into and out of the home pasture at will--making the pasture a less than entirely safe space for new chicks. Our youngest livestock guardian, Biscuit, truly appreciates the flavor of fresh chicken. Since he's responsible for the home pasture these days, the only place mama hen can hide her brood from him is inside the barn--not a place for raising young chicks when fresh air, sunshine, greens and bugs beckon just outside in the pasture.

Good luck, mama hen. You're going to need it to raise this brood to adolescence.

Cock of the Walk

This is the young rooster that has managed to peacefully coexist on our farm.

Last fall we wound up with such an overabundance of roosters that our #1 rooster, PrettyBoy, was quite busy kicking tail feathers all across the farm. In the interest of keeping the peace, we placed just over a dozen of the younger roosters in protective custody and began fattening them up for our table with grain.

This left PrettyBoy and Lawrence (our guinea cock) free-ranging with the hens. When we semi-corralled some hens--enclosing them safely out of canine reach behind a low fence ove which they might migrate with ease--we also placed one of the young roosters with that flock. Although he may have survived at first thanks to that fence, these days none of the hens stay in the enclosure for any length of time and the red rooster roams about with some of the younger hens.

Rarely does he antagonize the kingpin. For that kindness, he appears to be left alone to wander and peck in peace. Although we've seen farms with several roosters free-ranging peacefully, I suspect that each flock has its designated rooster for each hen--reducing rivalry among the ranks.

We're glad that this handsome young'un roams about our farm. He's gentle n the eyes and a treat to behold.

Chickens in Springtime

The young rooster once assigned to the fenced coop ranges freely about the farm.

We've been enjoying glorious spring weather of late; however, this weekend has been hot. Not all of us are faring as well as the chickens. They know to take dirt baths in the shade when they need a break from feasting and foraging about the farm.

A hen works at preparing a new garden bed.

In addition to feeding themselves, they are also helping turn the newest garden-beds-in-the-making, roughing up and turning in the fresh compost around established plantings, and keeping the worm population in check. Of course, the latter is a "service" they perform for their own benefit, as we would rather have the worms available to work the earth as well.

This worm escaped detection by working beneath a planter/shield.

The young rooster that we assigned to the chicken coop area is strutting his stuff without incurring the wrath of PrettyBoy, the rooster at the top of the pecking order. I enjoy seeing his gleaming red plumage; there's something rather spectacular in his youthful presentation. We hope he can continue to coexist beside PrettyBoy. The enclosure around the coop keeps predators out, but the chickens clear it with ease and return only to sample fresh layer mash, or to lay or set upon eggs.

The young roo supervises his companion hens.

Although the clarity of recent photos suffers because most are taken when I'm not wearing glasses and so I am not seeing images clearly before shooting pictures, I do hope the general idea of the colors and shape of life on the farm can be enjoyed by others.

Two Roosters for the Freezer

Cooped up, some roosters are getting too big for their britches.

This weekend we prepared two roosters for the stew pot. First to go was a big, handsome red rooster who had been preying on the other roosters in the kennel area. We had planned to put the roosters in the kennel for finishing for only a few weeks, but the time got away from us. Some of the red roosters are huge.

The second was a smaller black rooster. I selected him because he has been the target of the others' malicious attacks. More than once I've saved him from a corner where he cowered, allowing the big roos to claw at and peck on him. He wasn't as big, but his presence seemed to bring out the worst in the others--so he had to go.

The guts of two roos. One laden with fat.

All went smoothly outdoors and the dogs were happy to clean up the pan of rooster blood left behind. Indoors, however, I was in for a surprise. The little black rooster came apart smoothly, but the big red rooster did not. His innards were packed tight within his chest cavity and glued together with fat. We've processed birds with fat pockets before, but this guy's internal organs had no room to move about for all the fat pressing upon them.

The birds had lived similar lives, and had eaten the same food--although the big red rooster may have been one of those bullies who hogged much of the feed for himself, so I was amazed by the differences between them on the butcher block. Even the big guy's organs looked different--his liver was not the deep healthy red we're used to seeing, but a lighter color.

Hearts and livers of the same roos--left/right positions swapped from above.

When I enjoyed their hearts and livers pan fried with onions for supper, served on buttered bread, the flavor of each was just fine and I was reminded of how my mother used to fix me snacks of chicken hearts and livers some afternoons. Such meals just don't get old. Rooster stew, on the other hand, is getting old, so we packed up the rest of the rooster pieces for the freezer. A few days off before our next pot of stew will be a welcome respite.

A Log on the Fire and a Rooster in the Pot

Rooster waiting for the cone to be shortened.

Happy New Year! Today we finally got down to the business of making fresh chicken stock. Plucking up a rooster from the flock in the pen was too easy, as was lugging the hefty guy down to the killing cone I had fashioned from a piece of tin roofing, but the killing part was not easy at all. First, the cone was too narrow. Wider than those seen in catalogs, it was either too narrow or too long to be workable with a bird the better part of a year old. So I "rolled up" the bottom "hem" of the cone and the rooster's neck had plenty of stretch to it.

At about that point I started to get queasy. As such the camera got put away and I just worked to get through the job. First problem: if I'm to make cuts along the neck to drain the blood, how do I do that without the blood pouring all over me? In twisting the rooster's neck to the side to make the cut, I exposed what I imagine was his windpipe which bubbled up with air. At least hitting the jugular vein only took one cut, and I left the carcass draining into the bucket while I set about heating water.

Okay, so I should have started the water quite a bit earlier, but I was a little unsure if I would actually have a dead carcass to hot-dip and so I postponed that step. Then it appeared that the barbecue's gas tank was empty (no, I don't have a gauge on it yet, silly me), so I figured I'd skip the dipping and simply skin the bird. Since most of the fat is in the skin, we know it's better to eat skinless chicken, and even though we've been told that rooster is tough so we're just cooking it down for the broth, skipping the skin will still be better for us. So we did.

After the trouble I had slitting the bird's throat, I was pleased that the rest of the operation went smoothly. Well, except when I was cleaning the severed neck to put in the pot and found myself washing out a vein clogged with coagulated blood. My stomach flipped again then, but I guess a little queasiness just testifies to my humanity when I'm slaughtering meat for food?

Anyway, now that I'm in from bedding down the animals and the chicken has been simmering in the crock pot for some time, my appetite is being whetted. When I just checked on the broth I discovered that the "tough" rooster meat shreds easily with a spoon. Although that suggests that the meat may not be terribly tough, I do remember the first chicken we processed--when Luther and Molly were pups and killed one of those exciting flapping animals. That chicken was chewier than the proverbial shoe leather.

Whatever the outcome, I'm excited to be broadening our cuisine. Frozen goat and fish are fine, and from the farm we've had endless varieties of quiche, but winter is the time for chicken stock, and we know exactly where this rooster has been and what he's been eating. No hormones, no antibiotics, no inhumane conditions. Yum!

Let the Punishment Fit the Crime?

Left with the chicken she killed tied around her neck, Kathleen licks her chops.

Recently our younger dogs have acquired a taste for chicken--fresh chicken. Although many of the hens are now safely enclosed with the coop, several still choose to wander about freely. (I prefer to encounter them around the yard, and would allow them to free range indefinitely if I could count on them to dodge the dogs and to lay their eggs safely out of canine reach.)

The Buff Orpington hen, Kimberly, the farm's most dedicated chick-raiser continues to wander about freely. She is fine, of course--I've seen her reprimanding a dog who got too interested in her new chicks; nobody will mess with Kimberly. Of course, now that her most recent brood is older, their range is tangential to Kimberly's; they no longer orbit her as planets might orbit their sun. The drawback to their continued independence is their increased vulnerability without mama hen watching their every step.

Indeed, Kimberly's brood of seven--was it seven?--is down to three. The three adolescent chickens travel together, loosely, and put themselves in peril every time a young dog is in search of entertainment. The day after Midnight Hank arrived, Kathleen was sprung from doggie jail having done the time for her last poultry crimes. Soon after her release, Jeff and his mother-in-law brought a fresh load of hay. While we were moving bales, I tried to point out Midnight Hank to Jeff--only to see Kathleen with a fresh chicken carcass in her mouth.

Doggie jail is located in the very kennel where the roosters are being fattened for the freezer, in the adjoining run.

Back she went to doggie jail. Let her stew beside the nicely-fattening roosters, said I. Jeff (who has a story for every occasion) related the story of an acquaintance who tied the dead bird to the offender's neck and allowed the dog to tote that burden for some days. I figured it was worth a try. The next evening, the dead chicken, one of Kimberly's adolescents, was slipped into a mesh onion bag and trussed tightly to Kathleen's collar. The lower photograph shows the canine prisoner in her personal poultry hell: housed beside unreachable roosters and with a dead chicken trussed about her neck. Without any real confidence that the plan would work, I left her in for the night.

Unfortunately, the following morning's result did not surprise me, although I was a tad disappointed. Kathleen still had the onion bag still tied tightly to her nylon collar; however, all that remained of the chicken were its tightly-trussed orange feet.