poultry update and a contest of sorts

 I have some updates on the local chicken front:

 

Last night at dusk, I went out as usual to wish the girls goodnight, thank them for

the eggs and bolt the coop door.  Problem is, I did (a) and (b), but not (c).  When

I went out this morning, I saw the door open and not as many chickens in the

garden as I would have preferred.  “Shit!”, I reasoned, “there’s a mink or raccoon

nearby with a feathery grin.”

 

A quick peep in the coop, however, showed the missing two, wrestling over the

preferred nesting box.  I had been a negligent parent, but fortunately skated this

time.  Sorry, ladies.  It won’t happen again.  No need to get the RCMP and some nosy

social worker involved.

 

Slinkee and I had just returned from a neighbour’s house.  Yesterday, he helped

40 meat chickens to their Final Reward, even treating them to a once-in-a-lifetime

ride in the Whizbang Chicken Plucker. He gave Jude and me a 5 pound bird because

Jude had picked up six laying hens for him last month when we got ours.

 

I had intended to take a white plastic bag to conceal the corpse from the girls.  I

knew I would be carrying it when I went to the coop because I needed to park the

truck near the garden when we got back.  I blanked on that, too, so our neighbour

put the bird in an Olafson’s resealable-for-freshness, trans-fat-free, “Ensenada

Savoury (TM)” pesto flour tortillas bag. 

 

The bag had some nice authentic folk art or faux-authentic folk art on the front,

and a detailed recipe for pesto salmon wraps on the back with the Nutrition Facts;

but all that couldn’t completely cover the fallen foul’s ample chest and chubby

legs.  I hurriedly checked for eggs and fed the girls, assuring them that “Ensenada

Savoury (TM)” bird was no one they knew.  I don’t know if they bought it.

 

I’ve mentioned in recent posts that we can only identify two of the chickens —

Brenda, the blondest one, and Sally, the second blondest.  The other four look

the same to us so far.  That hasn’t stopped us from naming them, though. 

 

One of them, or perhaps all four, are really good at escaping the garden and the

run we’re putting around the garden. That one (or ones) is/are Houdina. Another

squats in the favoured nesting box constantly.  We call her Ma.  She must feed

when the others push her out so they can lay.

 

The third is Juveli, named after my blogging mentor.  She told me that this is a

way to show respect, a tradition bloggers have been honoring for centuries, even

before the invention of the printing press. Back when bloggers used quill pens

and parchment that they would take from village to village.

 

That leaves one unnamed hen, and I’d like you to name her.  Please submit your

suggestions in the “Comments” section of this post.  Rules will be made up as the

contest progresses.  No bribes less than a hybrid truck will be considered.  Have

fun and don’t fret.  It’s just a chicken.