On Monday our black game hen, a native born resident of the Manor, brought eight little puffballs on legs out to see the world.
We are happy to see these little guys, and hope a good chunk of them survive (free ranging leads to high mortality levels for baby chickens). Both their parents were hatched here, hardy survivors of everything the piedmont has thrown at them from foxes to parasites. They represent the next step in my quest to be the world’s laziest chicken keeper with a flock of hardy, wily birds who need very little from me to thrive and live as chickens are meant to live: roaming around eating seeds and bugs and greenery, dust bathing and sunbathing instead of penned up and dealing with commercial food and accumulations of their own waste. Furthermore, they’re integral parts of our soil improvement plan (as I’ve mentioned before).
Godspeed, little chickens. May you grow and thrive and hopefully at least one of you is a spare rooster we can eat.