A city ain't no home for a rooster...

Recently you may have overhead the following explanation in our home:

"If it looks like a duck, and walks like a duck and quacks like a duck... it's probably a duck."

But substitute the word "rooster"...

"If it looks like a rooster, and struts like a rooster and crows like a rooster... it's probably a rooster."

Alas, poor Zebra, we hardly knew ye. We loved your fabulous plumage. But the neighbors weren't going to find your adolescent crowing very charming for much longer. Especially seeing as sunrise comes mighty early these days. Luckily, our Chicken Raising neighbors had anticipated this possibility. Apparently, it's hard to sex baby chicks. So they'd prearranged an adoptive home on a farm in Boring, Oregon for any spring chicks that turn out not to be hens, but roosters. Zebra went to his new home this week. The children shed their tears and mourned Zebra's move in their own ways. I tried to console them by explaining that at least he will not end up as a chicken McNugget. I don't think that helped matters much. The good news is the real hens may start laying any time now... Some of their faces are flushed red, which apparently shows the hormonal glow of teen hens. Can't wait for those beautiful eggs! Our neighbors go on vacation next week, and I leave with my family on vacation today, so there will be a short window where Heather gets to be ChickenMom in our absence. C'mon egg layers!