December 30, 2007 – Cloudy, cold. We had three chickens, all of them, I thought, hens. I don’t know how I missed it, but yesterday I looked up and saw this hen above, who is clearly not a hen, and the spitting image and progeny of his papa, the venerable Winston, below. Until yesterday, he looked like a hen to me. Annie probably knows. So I seem to have two roosters, which I don’t want.