I'd mentioned earlier that I thought my husband was helping with this whole chicken thing just to indulge me. On Friday, he proved that he really likes the chickies when he called to tell me he found some biddies and what breeds did I want?
He came home with a Buff Orphington.
A Gold-laced Wyandotte and an Araucana.
Unfortunately the Wyandotte baby had something wrong with her foot and kept holding it in the air. She was eating and drinking a little, but not putting on weight like the other chicks.
When we got home from karate practice last night, the chick was lying in the bin. I though she was dead, but a closer look revealed shallow breathing. We brought her into the house and took turns holding her to keep her warm until she finally gave up about thirty minutes later. We buried her under the redbud tree.
The kids are taking it really hard. I think it's mostly that it came the day after we lost Myles than feelings for the chick itself. It's not been an easy couple of days.
Being RUSSIAN Means Waking-up to a Cheerful Wartime Propaganda Song on the
Morning News- like Fuken North Korea
-
*They carried off a young commander- *
*with a hole in his head- a hole in his head 🎶🎶*
A happy little ditty about how they’re all going to die
2 hours ago
pouty face for the chick. happy face for our "HH" - Husband Hero.
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