This is what greeted me in the old henhouse this morning:
Yes, my poor old Butch is gone.
I brought him into the house on Sunday afternoon, to show Keith... who counseled that yes, indeed, he did not look good... but we should let nature take it's course. I don't blame Keith, it is always he who must put down hurt chickens. Butch did not recover from his fight with one of the Elvi about 3 weeks ago.
He had been torn across his head, and for a while, I thought his only eye was not going to function.
I wonder now if it was. Buffy, his companion, was staying close to him when I got out there.
I shoo'd her over to the coop side... remember, they lived on the feed room side... so tomorrow, I'll shovel up all that straw and spilled feed, and put it on the compost heap. I find it interesting that he made it through the week with the unbearable below zero temps, and died this week, but I think his age and the fact that he was hurt so badly contributed.
So, our numbers continue to fall... we are down to 13 birds from 50 or so at tops in that henhouse.
The hens are jam up and jelly tight in the henspa. That's a VERY popular nest box.
And the ducks are overjoyed that they are able to actually SWIM this week, and clean themselves up.
You notice the big ice piece has barely melted.
The goats were soaking in the sunlight when I left to go out for a while. Delilah has settled in so very well... it makes me feel good to know that she has become part of the "herd".
The big white chicken in the middle is my next worry... she is an older girl, and is not moving around very much. I have checked her... feet are okay... I think she is just feeling her age. She doesn't go outside, and mostly stays under the heat lamp.
As the little brown hen says:
"That's it for today from Calamity Acres!"