Just a short update on the feathered dinosaurs. My neighbor came over and bought the other barred cockerel, once again claiming he is too pretty to eat. No big surprise there for me. The previous barred cockerel and Starry the barred pullet are both doing quite well, and Starry now looks more barred than mottled. I was surprised my neighbor still has some Cornish-Rocks left ... they are almost 14 weeks old now. Twenty-four of her 25 "surprise special" chicks are doing good, the one exception is not really growing or thriving much.
Mula died Friday morning. I knew something was amiss when she didn't mob the door at morning feeding, just sat up on the roost with a cranky look in her eye. I had broached the idea of giving her a proper send-off with dumplins, which seems to me to be the modern chicken's equivalent to an old Viking funeral. Not quite a blaze of glory, but older birds tend to need a gentle simmering or stewing. Hubby had the idea under consideration when he found her beak-in-the-dirt dead Friday morning.
So Betty is the only remaining red chicken of the trio I bought for hubby in spring 2013 as his reward for building the first part of the rampart. We didn't know how old they were, just that the three were full grown two years ago.
Oh, the cockerel my neighbor bought tried out his voicebox for the first time this morning, while hubby was looking right at him. I thought it amusing that hubby was so proud of the little cockerel ... almost reminded me of the roosters trying to take credit for food appearing in the coops. I mentioned it jokingly, and hubby retorts that we've raised that one up from newly-hatched chick, so why not feel a little pride at his first attempt to crow (once the initial laughter has subsided, of course)? It's been two years since we've raised up cockerels to the kazoo-crow stage.