The Chicks are becoming Chickens and Other Scenes from The Farm.

To refresh everone’s memory, this is what the chicks looked like the day they arrived:

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And this is what they look like now:

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They are almost 2 1/2 months old now. If they were meat birds like you buy in the grocery store, they would already be in the freezer.

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They are starting to look like minature adults.

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This is my goofy daughter posing with one of the chicks.

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They have graduated to this perch. At night they want to get off the ground. The higher the chicken is in the pecking order, the higher thier place on the roost. And yes, they do actually peck each other to establis dominance.

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This is above goofy daughter getting ready to drive me across the street to take pictures of the turkeys.

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This is Tom.

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Tom likes to strut his stuff for just about any moving thing, even if it is not a female turkey.

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This is his favorite thing to show off for. She is the only one who can give him what he really wants. Turkey Love.

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When he is showing off, his head becomes the most beautiful colors. That thing hanging over his beak becomes elongated and then he tucks his head so that all you can see is the red engorged waddle and head. He also makes this blowing sound that I had never heard in person until he came to live on the farm.

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This is Cocky. He came to live on the farm because the woman who owned him was not allowed to have a rooster in town. I think his crows began to bother her neighbors and they turned her in. Anyway, he is much happier here because he has his own flock of hens that he takes care of. When he first came to live here, we had to seperate him from the girls because he wouldn’t even give them time to eat or recuperate. He had become an old hat these days though. He is a banty rooster. Just imagine a large rooster shrunk down.

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This is my handsome husband holding our last White Plymouth Rock chicken. We call her the last of the Mochickens. She is four years old. I think she is probably the oldest living laying chicken in America. Her real name is Tailfeathers. She survived an attack a year or so ago by an animal (probably a fox) in which 2 of her comrades and 1 of cats perished. The resulting injuries left her with only a few tailfeathers. Hence, the name Tailfeathers. I know, I’m sooo original, not.

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This is where she insists on sleeping every night. See, left to thier own devices, chickens will fly up to the highest roost they can get to. In this case a tree in our yard. The only way to keep her down would be to clip her wings on one side (so she could still fly enough to escape predators) or to cut one of the joints in her wings. I don’t want to do either one. She always comes to the nest to lay, so I let her fly up there. She deserves it after what she has been through.

The reason chickens want to get so high is because once the sun sets they pretty much will not run from anything.

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This is the new bull. He is a Hereford. When we breed him with the current cows who are Black Angus my uncle-in-law says we will have Black Baldies. When I asked why he wants to do this his response was, “because I can”.

I leave you with some shots of the beautiful clouds in the sky opposite the setting sun on the night that we took our walk and ride around the farm.

I do love the colors of the skies here in Alabama. Until you have seen an Autumn sunset in Alabama, you just haven’t seen it all.

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Y’all Come Back Now.

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October 30, 2009. Home and Garden.

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