We brought the Love Dog into Rocky’s pasture so the two of them could get acquainted. Rocky sniffed Lenore and she lay down while he seemed to get used to her. After a few minutes, he paid little attention to her and went around looking for grass and grain. Lenore seemed at ease, as she almost always is. I think they’ll get along well.
It seems ironic to me that Fran, who was nearly killed by the fox while the other two hens were virtually unscathed, survived, and just a couple of weeks later, she is the only survivor. She seems bewildered. She comes out to peck at the grass, then spends most of the day huddled in the barn. Chickens are not meant to be alone, and so tomorrow I am buying two new chickens from my friend Jenna Woginrich at Cold Antler Farm. Curiously, she is hosting her chicken workshop tomorrow and I’ll pick up the chickens in the morning. Jenna is generous and is always offering various dead and butchered animals to her friends. I think I’ve had enough dead chickens for now, though. The chickens will move with us to New Bedlam Farm, once we figure out where that is.
Few species of animals like to be alone, and chickens always move around together. Fran can’t quite hop up into the roost, but is beginning to move her wings. Her appetite is back and she is yet another lesson in life. There are many on a farm.
I think we are closing in on a place. Somebody out there is wanting Bedlam Farm. They are on their way.
Mother is always watchful, a creature on the line between a loving pet and a murderous hunter. When I came out this morning, she was devouring a bird. Then she hopped into my lap purring. I appreciate the mystery of barn cats.
