Friday, February 25, 2011
All Kinds of Chicken and a Cat
This is Zoltar.
Once upon a time he was a tiny chick.
A tiny chick that we named Zoe, assuming he was a she, and was going to give us pretty, green eggs.
Now he is all grown up, which is not to say he is much bigger. But he thinks he is big. He acts like he is big. He is a big something. He is a big pain in the farmer's shin. He is a cocky-little-dude.
Zelda is broody. She went through this once before, and like a silly minded farmer, I let her sit on five eggs for twenty one days... twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five. I composted them after it was obvious they were not going to amount to anything. Well. I guess I am still silly, and she is still broody, and last time I checked she was sitting on seven eggs! What am I thinking?!
One thing I am thinking is... Silkie chicks sure are cute.
Little Zelda, and Puff are adorable, and sweet. I have heard Silkie roosters are mild, and easy to have around. Of course between the Polish rooster and the cocky-little-dude as baby-daddies, I am not sure what kind of bird we could expect.
Boy-howdy, I do not need any that look, or act, like Tesla. He is a freaky-feathered foul, with very little brain. Zoltar is handsome, sure, but what if seven eggs hatched with chicks bearing his attitude? That would be a trial!
Hencakes. All those eggs should go to hencakes. Hencakes are much easier to manage.
Let's see... Zelda started sitting on the sixteenth... is it twenty-one days from the first egg she sets on, or the last? Maybe I should try candling her eggs.
Did I tell you that he flew up to the telephone lines? It happened last month, when Ferris was stalking him. Zoltar pumped his wings, and in a panic and flurry he reached the lines running down the side yard, twenty five feet up!
He looked like a fat pigeon. It was hilarious, and impressive, but mostly hilarious.
When Zoltar finally came down, it was in an almost graceful, controlled fall. Then he strutted off, like he meant to do it all along... Fly? Of course I can fly. I don't need a cat to scare me up a pole! Humph. I fly when I want to fly.
Benjamin does not find any of this interesting. He thinks blogging is a waste of napping time. He tells me this every time he climbs on my lap, as I tap away at this silly computer.