I was just trying to remember what I did with myself yesterday. Weird. I could not recall.
I planted carrots and beets and leeks.... oh yes. I visited the Big Box stores in search of this powder called inoculant which seemed to help start ff the sugar peas so nicely last year. I think I might be a shade too late to get a great harvest of peas, but it had been so cold and harsh up til this past week, I was fearful of having young sprouts get nipped by a cold front or, like last year, that snow day surprise we had in Mid- February.
Anyhoo..... after I teach a Basket class this morning, I shall plant the peas and sprinkle the powders and let nature take it's course.
At one point, as I walked down to the coop/run, my heart skipped a beat. I saw feathers everywhere.
Oh no. And not a chicken in sight. You can well imagine my dread. I walked inside the runs, calling out to Stu who is usually the first one rounding the corner. He appeared cautiously, nervously from the exit flap and I opened the door.
There they all were, cowering inside and fearful of coming out so I could look them all over and figure out who lost the feathers and why. They were definitely from one of the goldies. Poor babies.
They were all skittish, and Stu didn't help matters by strutting on his toes and curkling. I know that is not a word.... but it fits as to the sound he makes when he is distressed about something. It is not a crow or a tuk-tuk. It has a trumpeting feel, very alarming. And the hens pay close attention. He and Ginger kept a weather eye out as the others moved slowly out to peck at some corn grains I used to lure them out into the light. Ginger is a sentinel.
I have to think it was a bird of prey. Or a cat that is now somewhere licking it's wounds. I found no evidence of blood anywhere but the spurs on Stu are over an inch long and I think he has a strop somewhere that he employs to keep them pointy and dangerous.
That is a formidable bird.