Wonky Chicken, so named because illness or unhealed injury forced her to walk with one leg, and "wing crutches," was one of the chickens that came to us from our dear friends who moved out of state.  Well, I don't think she was "wonky" when they had her...one guess is that she got hurt in transit or during the general chaos of the move.  We knew she wasn't going to recover fully and be a layer again, and she looked uncomfortable.  We almost put her down right away--but Q called for clemency and undertook to watch out for her.  In any event, under his care she made a good rally, and seemed to basically keep up with the flock.  Sadly, over the last couple weeks, she slid back downhill.  She was getting around a little bit, but then she stopped roosting with the flock.  Each night she had to be hand-carried into the coop from the little valley between rocks and tree roots.  I think she decided that was the easiest venue to "shelter-in-place."  There is a tiny rise up to the coop, and I think it just became too much.  I realized as I wrote this that tonight was the first night in weeks that I didn't also have to chase a handful of birds from the rocks and roots next to Wonky's chosen lair.  I now suspect that they weren't being difficult:  they were forming a Chicken Shield around their struggling sister.

During the day, Wonky would struggle out to be as close to the flock as she could.  Generally in the evening before they roosted, I would find her in one of the dust-bathing basins that the chickens dug outside the pen.  She'd come in when food and water beckoned.  When she rallied, she was clean and energetic looking, despite her obvious mobility challenges.  Day-by-day this past week, she was looking more bedraggled.  Finally, tonight, we knew it was time to tell Quinn.  Our friends were back in town, and we decided to say good-bye to her together, and then I would go do what was necessary.  The kids, as usual, ran ahead of me--and the call came back.  "She's already dead.  Wonky's already dead."  Sure enough:  she had chosen her own moment, right after the sundown of Solstice eve, basking in the bathing bowl.

Quinn and his friends wanted to bury her--which I suppose is fair enough for an animal that has earned itself a name--whether by merit or misadventure.  So, off we hiked in the gloaming to the back of the pasture where the relatively pliable earth of the excess dirt pile from excavation serves as a makeshift graveyard for animals.  We dug her a shallow grave and built a little cairn of loose rocks, to hopefully give the sod time to re-knit before anything came a-digging.  Quinn wanted to say a prayer--which he did, and a fairly nice one it was.  He didn't invoke a creator or other deities--just said a few kind words about Wonky, and why she had been his favorite chicken.  The littlest sister gave this prayer a very sweet Amen.

Then we headed back to the barn to finish our barn chores and get everyone into bed.

Just another day and night at Tumble Rock Farm.

Well, the big weekend-after-memorial-day party did not materialize. The finances just can't bear a party right now, and I didn't feel like "stone souping" it. I'm disappointed, but that's life. Current plan is for a Summer party in late July or early August.

My parents bought me [and Tumble Rock Farm] an Egg Washing kit for my birthday. The kit is a handy piece of "kitchen engineering." Essentially a plastic wash bucket with some vent holes, an egg carrying basket, with differently sized weighted disks to keep varying quantities of eggs from bouncing out, an air compressor with a hose attachment designed to discourage back-flow, a valve stem connected to a perforated metal pipe...oh, I could go on, but you get the idea. [Get your own at eggcartons.com :) ].

While my parents are very creative in their gift-giving, it's not too hard to figure out that prettypammie instigated this particular gift. I get the feeling she didn't like finding feathers or eau-de-egg-debris in the dishwasher. So fussy.

On the plus side, as soon as we can find an affordable refrigerator [which is to say "as close to free as possible consistent with being in working condition"] the entire egg processing operation can be conducted in the barn.

Pam, Quinn and I just put in a complete marathon effort. The entire day was almost entirely dedicated to getting the Summer Coop and free range enclosure built. We:

• Met with our grading contractor to talk about getting some fixes done,
• Met with our neighbor and an equestrienne acquaintance who will be helping the neighbors sell their horse,
• Finished the hoops for the Summer coop,
• Clipped up the horse wire,
• Zip-tied on the post extensions,
• Stapled on the deer netting and chicken wire above the horse wire,
• Zip-tied on the chicken wire to the coop's hoops,
• Tied up the tarp over the hoops with baling twine,
• Dug post holes for the coop gate,
• Built gates out of mixed "1-by" pieces, with stapled on chicken wire,
• Hung the gates and installed latches ,
• Shoveled out the gate entrances for free swing, and finally
• Transferred 37 hens and 2 roosters to the production coop by flashlight.

Then the storm rolled in, as we hauled our tools back to the barn and scrambled up the hill for showers and baths

During this effort Quinn was a great help with fetch and carry, including running up to the house and fetching lemonade, snack bars, and yogurts when I started to fade.

We had a tremendously successful day accustoming the dogs to "these are MY birdiies, not yours," as they were on tie-out down with us between the old and new coop, and sat quietly through the entire transfer operation, including behaving themselves while eminently sniffable upside down chickens were carried right past them. Good dogs!

Must fit 13" wide x 13" deep x 18 (?)" 15 doz. egg box.