For the last three days, I've done a lot of reflection about what I hope for from chickens, and how we should be caring for them. The two survivors now spend their nights in our closed garage; the surviving rooster is now family, not dinner or future exile.
This morning, when I took the girls down to the 
garage to get their scooters and head off for school, I opened the garage door, and this guy puffs up his neck, raises his head, and sortof warbles something which was, despite the warble, unmistakably a first crow. He's got his girl (at right), and he now wears the only pants in the cage. And I hope very much that he keeps his crowing for such moments. It was 8:40 am, and surely the neighbors can't complain about that, right?
garage to get their scooters and head off for school, I opened the garage door, and this guy puffs up his neck, raises his head, and sortof warbles something which was, despite the warble, unmistakably a first crow. He's got his girl (at right), and he now wears the only pants in the cage. And I hope very much that he keeps his crowing for such moments. It was 8:40 am, and surely the neighbors can't complain about that, right? 
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