Many of the other Web pages devoted to urban chicken farming say nothing at all about butchering. At sites like thecitychicken.com, you can learn about coop construction, hatching eggs, feeding, protecting, and diagnosing chickens. Everything, in short, except what is for me the most satisfying part: the bloodying.

From There Will Be Chicken Blood.

Seriously? Because I think the best part is you know, eggs. And raising them up, and letting them sit in your lap and stuff. I have killed chickens, and it’s not that bad, but c’mon. Maybe you should stop backyard birding and work in the Tyson factory?

Speaking of chicken melodrama, batch number two is now three weeks old. The two Silkies have not yet acquired names, but Strudel stepped in and named the Polish hen.

Figure 1: Meet “Mr. Klassy.” I was going to quash it, but the “Mr.” won me over, really.

Veronica and Calliope happily putter around the yard like the big ladies they are now, and Marty has gone to a new home, where no one will mind if he crows. Too bad. He was a beaut.

Figure 2: Nomnomnoming Thai curry that Strudel did not eat.

Oh! And you have to know the house is done. It is jolly blue. Ye Olde “Chooks’ Respite I” was green. I am going to be extra creative and name this new house “Chooks’ Respite II.” I should say, too, that there are now chicken ladders attached under the doors, so they don’t have to just fly/jump.

Figure 3: The run is in a dead zone under a laurel and hawthorne, but they have grassy sunny backyard access most of the time, too. So there is a “front” door to the yard, and a “back” door to the run only, for when we are gone all day.

Figure 4: And then there is the big door for cleaning and food/water access.

Figure 5: The inside not yet showing the two perches and hilarz wood-patterned linoleum. It’s like some kind of Norwegian Disco in there are something, or a roller rink.