So we reached another milestone in this fowl experiement: 11 weeks. The significance of this much-feared day is that the 'broilers' are shipped off to the butcher. I gather the term is gender-neutral, referring only to those who have been chosen to make the ultimate sacrifice in the interest of stocking our freezer. Ours happened to be all cockerels (males). These guys have just begun to find their voices (rehearsing at 5:30, of course), so it should be a bit quieter 'round these parts.
It was an affair to remember, chasing these birds around their pen and stuffing them all into Whidbey's old dog crate, perched in the rear of our Outback. They weren't sure whether to run inside the coop or out; Em was positioned inside chasing them out while I tried to pounce on them. Quite a sight, I'm sure. We finally rounded up all 14 and set off for the 45-minute drive to the butcher. Despite 95 degrees outside and a bumpy ride and close quarters inside, all survived intact (as long as they needed to...).
I returned yesterday, and now our freezer is 14 birds richer. We were prepared to find tiny little things waiting for us, but the birds don't look all that small. Meat birds would certainly produce more, but these look respectable. We'll see when we try to cook them!
In an attempt to console the remaining pullets, I put in a window to allow more light. With a little red to match our front door, we've got a splash of color back there. Their big moment comes around week 20, I gather, when they begin laying!
Our other new addition has been a pair of red-tailed hawks nesting nearby. They certainly like to hang out around our yard. Coincidence?
