We just got through butchering fourteen broilers a couple of weeks ago. I've got nine more to go.
It is not easy and it's not fun. The last nine are about the size of small turkeys now. They're the darnedest things I've ever seen. A bud was over last night and was amazed how they really aren't good at walking. And they aren't.
What they're good at is eating and growing.
I've got six dominickers, six reds, one red dot, and nine broilers. In the mornings when I open the hootch the dominickers, reds, and red dot are off like school kids at morning recess. They're going buggin'.
The broilers toddle out and hang around my feet wanting food. Then they squat down and just eat and complain.
The red dot a bud's ten year old daughter can carry around any old way like it's a rag doll and it's happier than if it had good sense. She can put it down and it'll stand there until she picks it up again. She'll carry it feet up like a baby and it's almost like the darn thing is hypnotized with contentment or something.
Two of the reds love to hang around the shop under my feet. I can reach down and pet them and they don't blink. One of the dominickers I named Stubby likes to hang out and talk. She's a real conversationalist. What I like is she can tell the same stories over and over and they never get old. I'm taking notes.
But the shop is creature friendly unless you're a neat nick kind of human. Heck yesterday afternoon I stopped for a break and sat down on the anvil with a gatorade. A cotton tail hopped in, looked me in the eye, and took a dust bath. Exhibitionists, they're everywhere.
