Ruby el Segun, Henrietta, & Bustard Mustard

My husband's family has had a handful of egg-laying chickens in their backyard since he was knee-high to a grasshopper (or roughly around that size). We have often talked about how fun it would be to have some of our own. Well, finally because he got so tired of me forgetting eggs at the grocery store because he loves me so much, he built a little hen-house and stole bought some Rhode Island Reds from a local Amish farmer.

And no, because you asked, they are not free-range and they are not organically fed. We're not crunchy like that.

They arrived to their new abode this morning, and Evie and I promptly spent some time christening them (as they christened the pristine springtime lawn with chicken shieza... they really are nasty little creatures). I knew right away that the little one had to be named in loving memory of Ruby, the friendly little bantam hen that lived down the road from Nana and Granddad. She was a great favorite of the grandchildren, who, according to local legend, met her untimely fate at the long end of a butcher knife. (We thought it would be disrespectful to her memory if we just named our chicken Ruby--- hence the "el segun".) Henrietta is the big bossy one, and Mustard is the one with the silvery wings. (I think Evie got confused when I asked her what she wanted to name the chicken; she thought I asked what she wanted ON TOP of her chicken... but the moniker stuck.)

I'm not quite sure that I have the nerve to open up said chicken-house to remove our tasty brown eggs... or to change the water or the feed. So Ruby el Segun, Henrietta, and Mustard may meet their untimely fate at the long end of my negligence. But that's just what I like to call the life cycle, folks.



(First rule of urban defense chicken-raising: approach from the perimeter. Second: always keep one eye on the chicken.)