A Sad Discussion

Bitsy and Socks have continued to kill any chicks that get out. Two, three, four killed today, the worst day in a while (made extra worse because I saw the depression around the edge of their pen, but it didn't look large enough for a chick to escape, so I didn't fill it. After we found the dead birds, I stopped up the hole, caught four or five living birds who had escaped, and we put up the electric netting. Phil had talked about doing that for some days, but the idea of moving netting for a few chicks seemed like such a hassle: we got rid of sheep to stop moving netting! Blah! So it makes me a chick-killer doubled, both because I didn't stop the hole, and I grimaced whenever Phil mentioned the netting).

It's tricky to count chickens: they're always on the move and they look pretty much identical. But we're somewhere in the low 30s.

I like stock, eggs, and stir fry with chicken. But I'm emotionally spent on the birds.

If a neighbor dog had eaten twenty of our chicks, we would be in shoot to kill mode.

It wasn't a happy discussion, but Phil suggested it's time to re-home Bitsy and Socks. I have been hoping with each dead chick that that would be the last. But if we're hoping to feed four boys through their teen years, we need dogs that don't kill chicks.

We need these two dogs to go, and we'd rather they not go that way. If you could pray that they can find a home within the next day or two, it would be a blessing. (There doesn't seem to be a simple and easy option.)

Shadow is Phil's shadow. She follows him when he goes to check on the cows, comes when called (and piddles when excited: it's good she stays outdoors). She doesn't eat chicks. We plan to keep her.

So that's the emotionally heavy thing, which taints what was otherwise a good day.

Phil, having gulped his way through the better part of 20 gallons of kombucha this week, started to feel a bit ill this afternoon. With the heat index right up around 110, the fact that he was outside most of the day, moving metal, laying it out, bolting some together—he completely drenched two pairs of shorts with sweat. I'm guessing he simply couldn't stay hydrated. Maybe I should have added some Celtic sea salt for trace minerals and replacement salt.

But we can access a couple of rows of apple trees from the road now! They're no longer blocked by long metal columns!

Phil was a little disappointed when he realized that the tractor isn't quite tall enough to get the steel beams up. I had always figured we'd need to rent taller equipment. (He probably figured that, 16 months ago when we ordered, but has forgotten in the meantime.) To just be able to work with our own equipment would have been preferable, but when you're missing three feet, you're missing three feet.