This morning my husband stared at me blankly and replied, "Chicken #47?"
The victim, of what looks like a failed late night plucking, was my dear little Fats. She was practically bare and loosing feathers with every shake.
Them's some sorry looking chickens - Spike and Fats, respectively
That's right. Dear little Fats is actually in the midst of The Dreaded Winter Molt. She is a wreck but is in good company with Spike and Angel. Of course they aren't any of the nameless rabble but rather all good layers, and named hens to boot.
The cold weather continues so we had to put them in a coop with a heat lamp. Sure we could have just sent them to The Pot... but Angel is my favorite of all hens, Spike is one of the best layers, and Fats is... well... Fats is Fats and a good snuggler. We think last week's crazy warm snap is to blame especially since Miss Duck is trying to lay her first egg (way too early). If we can't keep them warm with the heat lamp I'll have to become one of those crazy people who buys little sweaters for her chickens.
In other chicken news, and to Goodwife's glee (I'm sure) and to AL and Naomi's inspiration, we finally finished up the creepy meat chickens. Oh. Mi. Gosh. They were huge. This was the smallest of the mondo-meats:
Our last four went to the block and now we'll see to the task of shoveling out that side of the turkey house, setting Shine King of Barncats on that last rat, and then have us some good eating.
And a final note...
To our pals in the flood zone in Australia... golly what an ordeal! We've been watching on the news and our hearts and prayers go out to all of the families affected. Remember that we are all in this together, hang in there friends.