Tag Archives: urban fauxrmer

Rest In Peace, Wonderwing

This was not how the story was meant to end. Although it’s not surprising, I suppose, for those who raise chickens. The featured image? It has nothing to do with the topic but the image of a path into the woods serves as a relatively useful metaphor for dealing with the awful experience of losingContinue reading “Rest In Peace, Wonderwing”

A Feather Brush With Drama

Those tales of petty revenge that Facebook always lures you with are becoming less attractive to me these days. Probably because I’m seen the other side of it, at least from one person’s perspective. I think someone’s trying to get Facebook-level petty revenge on us, either for not giving them free eggs, or for someContinue reading “A Feather Brush With Drama”

A Chicken In Hand Is Worth Two In The Blog

Chickens like to scratch in the dirt. A lot. Actually, that’s an understatement. Chickens like to scratch and dig like some sports “fans” like to wreak havoc on social media. They also like to break out of coops like Steve McQueen. But do they like the heat of summer?

Backyard Eggs – The New Bitcoin

So. The tape. Oh, that tape. Well, it speaks for itself, and hopefully those chickens are coming home to roost in Georgia soon enough … so instead, I’ll stick to why you actually came here – urban chickenology! Chickens make a better topic than Lame Duck L’orange anyway. If you remember our chickens, those threeContinue reading “Backyard Eggs – The New Bitcoin”

Pullets: The Chronicles Of A Chicken Daddy

Remember those fuzzy chicks we acquired, who somehow survived life in a cardboard box on our covered patio and moved into a wooden coop in our backyard? Who then disappeared from my blog, like characters in a pilot written out of the show when it goes to series (‘gone but not forgot-hen’?)? Well, they’re thriving,Continue reading “Pullets: The Chronicles Of A Chicken Daddy”

Count Your Chickens Before They Lay … Because It Takes A While

Believe it or not, our chickens are still alive. Hobbes, Wonderwing, and Kylo Hen are now pullets – in other words, hormonal tweens – and have so far avoided raccoon attacks, dying of thirst, spontaneously combusting, or any of the other fates that kept me up at night ever since we set up their cardboardContinue reading “Count Your Chickens Before They Lay … Because It Takes A While”