Our first meat chickens arrived yesterday!
Tiny weeny handfuls of days old fluff, on enormous feet.
Have you seen many meat chickens? They don't look much at all like laying hens. All upper body and sturdy legs. But at day old they all look the same.
Cute as (chicken?) pie. (With apologies to all vegetarian friends.)
Tilly and her friends showed each chicken where the food and water was (in case they'd missed it) and gave them all names, the majority of whom seem to be Tinkerbell and Pliny (huh? as in, the younger? Seriously, don't ask me. Most days I have no idea where she's come from.)
(Although I don't actually think we will kill them ourselves – we'll see.)
Like you, like all sensible people, I'm deeply rattled by our disconnectedness from food. Particularly kids' disconnectedness. There's something awesome about the respect we have for these animals we hand raise, and cherish, and nourish, who will in turn nourish us.
(If they stayed this cute there'd be a real problem.)