When I was quite young I was allowed to bicycle by myself to the town’s one room library. Despite the small size, some librarian must have been a woman after my own heart because the children’s area was stocked with books that I totally related to. It was a library with old wood, big high windows and dust motes dancing in murky light. There I devoured all of the Misty books, the Black Stallion series, The Wizard of Oz (did you know that there are volumes of these?) and Dr. Doolittle. I already understood about talking to animals, and Dr. Doolittle was like spending time with a close friend.

I’ve been taking hundreds of photos of the chicks. Scanning through my downloads I saw this:

It’s a Pushmi-Pullyu Hen!

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, here’s Hugh Lofting’s illustration of his creature:

Now I have an itch to go back and read the original book. But, I’m a bit nervous about doing so. It was so perfect when I was a child. Have you read Doolittle lately? Should I revisit the book or keep my memory as is?

Yesterday I took Opal, the Delaware, to her first school visit. She’s the largest hen that I’ve ever brought, but Opal is so easy-going, and she talks in such happy low chortles when meeting the children, that she wasn’t at all intimidating, even though many of the kindergartners had never before seen a chicken up close. When we came back home, Opal deserved a bit of free-ranging in the meadow.

This corner of the yard is planted with native wildflowers and it is just coming into bloom. For the last half-dozen years, I’ve nursed it along. I’ve weeded out the invasive buckthorn and removed brambles. I thought I knew what was there. But, I don’t recall seeing this flower. I don’t remember planting it.

Does anyone know what this is?

It’s ever so pretty. There’s a few blooming underneath the peach tree, too.

I’m delighted to see it, whatever it is. I love these surprises in the garden.

Early on, I knew that I’d be keeping one of the Cuckoo Marans, and also the dark Blue Andalusian. The Andalusian is an inquisitive and bold chicken. She’s a tad too fast on her feet and flighty for the nursing home, but I have a soft spot for curious and out-going chickens, and I love the look of her grey feathers. Of the two Marans, one was obviously the calmer and friendlier, and I tagged her quickly as a nursing home hen, but her sister is a nice bird, and her eggs will be dark chocolate in color (alas, not truly chocolate inside) so I’ve decided to add her to my flock as well.

Cuckoo Maran and Blue Adalusian, 8 weeks

The other Andalusian female is light grey. It’s not exactly what is termed “splash,” but more of a pale wash. Neither of the two Andalusians have plumage that is show quality. The dark one has white splotches on her face and the light one is too white. But, they’re active, they get along well with each other and others, and they look quite pretty together. I’ve decided to keep both.

Blue Andalusians, 8 weeks

The third Andalusian in the box of chicks turned out to be a boy.

Mr. Grumpy has a quiet temperament. Although there is no bullying in the flock, he does appear, well, hen-pecked. Subdued. He’s easy to handle and, as of yet, no trouble. But he never, ever looks cheerful. He’s not of show quality, but has no defects, either. He would be a good addition to a backyard free-ranging flock that needs a rooster to warn the girls of danger. There’s no place here for him, and in truth, there are few places for roosters anywhere. Even if everyone who kept backyard chickens kept roos, only one boy should be housed with every ten hens. Since half of all eggs hatched are male, there’s obviously a huge disparity between available homes and the quantity of roosters. Many male chicks are killed right after hatching and others are destined for slaughter by 14 weeks of age. This is the hard truth of keeping backyard chickens. I know that this upsets many of my readers, but I am okay with it. I’m not a vegetarian. I believe there’s a place for humanely raised meat on the table. I buy beef, pork and chicken from farmers in nearby towns. If Mr. Grumpy was a different breed, I might even keep him awhile longer and harvest him for soup. I’ve never had to do that, but I would. However, Andalusians are scrawny, and no amount of feeding will give him heft. Processing a chicken is messy and unpleasant work. I’d rather not do it, especially when there’s so little to gain.

I have one more week to find him a home. Any takers? I’m willing to sell the light Andalusian to go with him as a breeding pair. If I can’t find him a place, there’s a poultry dealer in the next town over that takes roosters in for resale. With any luck, Mr. Grumpy will find a flock of his own. If not, he’s already lived a better life than most cockerels.

Meanwhile, now that I’ve decided which pullets to keep, I need to come up with names. Any suggestions for the two Andalusians and the Cuckoo Maran?

The Little Pond is where the Beast and her minions live. Often, man-made water features require maintenance and chemicals to keep the water clear. Not mine. Here the water is naturally filtered through four feet of gravel at the back of the big rock, which is then pumped up through the hole in the boulder and pours into the koi’s pool. When it was installed, I was told to fill the gravel area with water plants, as that would mimic a natural wetland’s cleansing system.

I put in a number of plants, many of which died, and a few, for some unknown reason to me, but that made much sense to Lily Dog, required removing. She pulled them out and shredded them. However, Lily left the water celery alone and it took off. Koi eat it, so the fish’s area stays clear, but by mid-summer the roots become too tangled and the foliage too thick, and it actually traps sediment instead of removing it. Over the years I’ve pulled it up, but the water celery comes back stronger and fuller.

This year I have a new tactic. It’s not only the Beast that likes to eat it.

I’ve been taking the goats over to the pond and letting them graze.

The boys are knee-deep in goat heaven.

They don’t know they’re working. Let’s not tell them.