Wild Chickens

The last of the Red Ranger Broilers are hitting the fields, not a moment too soon.  While they aren't big enough to carry off a small child, they were getting bitey and mean--apparently, they were staging a revolt against the hand that feeds them in protest over their boring digs in the brooder.  (I have the bite marks to testify to their tempers.)

Hopefully, being out on the green grass, in the fresh air and sunshine, will help them shake the last remnants of their viral ailment.  It's been a depressing state of affairs.  I started with 75 chicks, and in the space of two weeks, I lost nearly 40 birds.  One by one, they drooped, developed bloody scars and had raging watery bowel movements.  If they would drink water, they might live--or they might not.  Because it was a virus, there was nothing to be done but wait and try to make them as comfortable as possible.  And as they all got sick, there was a lot of waiting and comfort-making going on.

The survivors who are already in the field are looking very hale and hearty--they have such vibrant combs and bright eyes--so I have every hope that they will continue on for the summer, and not keel over to some other opportunistic disease.

Hopefully, they will lose their taste for human flesh and focus on more flavorful things, like bugs and grass and worms!