The backyard here is a cross between the Good Life and River Cottage. That’s in my mind, in reality it’s just a tip with chickens.
But the chickens are doing well. They arrived 15 months ago barely able to squawk and now they’re clucking away like a parliamentary knitting circle, and laying eggs like they’re going out a cloaca.
They’re brown shavers which I chose for the bold brown colouring and the lack of any alternative. They produce an egg each, each and every day and will do so for the next year or so before tapering off. I have shown them the stock pot as incentive.
The eggs are perfect eggs. The shells are brown but once inside, the yolks are bright yellow. They poach terrifically well, omlettate nicely and fry like most everything else in a fry pan.
They are size 7s usually, with a bit of variance. Except for Monday, when a goose got into the nesting box:
Well, it sounded like a goose – there was a lot of noise. On inspection, it’s obvious the three on the right had a much easier time of it.
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