What class of rural virgins would we be without chickens?!
With Fintan completing his DIY-enthusiastic chicken coop, we were finally ready to embark the raising chickens journey.
In the past few weeks Fintan has been secretly busy checking out all the shops in Loja which sell chicks and narrowed down his search to one particular shop, where he felt the owners were very forthcoming with information and overall pleasant. And, most importantly, introduced him to Mike Tyson, the 18 pound rooster.
I had the pleasure to meet him as well. He was white, had a coral crest and enormous feet and looked like he escaped a Wallace and Gromit movie. The owner let us touch its fat thigh, with pride beaming from his smile. He said they will be eating him on Sunday.
I could see this was happening as I witnessed Fintan go silent and stare at the bird with a predatory hypnotised gaze and the cinematic image of a cooked Mike Tyson with all the trimmings leaving the oven on a piping hot gigantic tray.
So, along with the 10 chickens that we bought (6 black egglayers, 2 white ‘cubanos’ for meat, and two ginger ‘criollos’ for both), we ended up with 4 roosters too… Two white, like Mike Tyson, and two ginger.
These 14 curious animals weren’t the only ones to receive their very own sleeping quarters this week.
Finally, we have completed Camila’s room!
A few days after we got our birds, our precious featherless Camila-bird flew the nest. She bravely departed our bed and got introduced to her very own Fintan-made crib.
Having her sharing our bed wasn’t a conscious ‘attachment parenting’ choice. We just did not get it together to have her room completed any sooner. So now I am sleeping a lot better with more room in our bed but Camila is requiring the mighty breast every hour of the night, which she never used to need. Is it the new sleeping arrangement? Is it because she’s teething? Or is she just showing off her finely tuned Swiss-like body clock?
I fear by the time she will grow accustomed to sleep through the night, our four roosters will begin to interrupt, in an equally precise manner, our sleepy nights with their pesky sound.
Whether they’ll do it in English (cock-a-doodle-doo), Spanish (kikiriki’) or Italian (chicchirichi’) we still don’t know, but I wonder if this might stunt their growth to Mike Tyson’s size and will end up being eaten at the lightweight stage of their life instead.