Just when I was looking forward to spending a nice relaxing Sunday reading a Terry Pratchett novel, the s.o. alerted me that our two remaining tom turkeys had decided to kill each other. They were tearing at each other's faces with their beaks. Both were a bloody mess, and they weren't stopping. It was horrible.
I suppose a bigtime commercial farmer would have debeaked them, but for us there was no use disfiguring both of them when one was already marked for the table later in the season. So we went ahead and killed the remaining Bourbon Red tom and put him in the freezer. Honestly, I'm hard pressed to think of a single thing I would less rather have done with my afternoon. I am sick of having to kill birds. It is the opposite of fun. But at least it is done.
So now we have three turkeys: a Royal Palm tom (who is now favoring us with a big flamboyant strutting display, and whose face will no doubt heal nicely), a Blue Slate hen, and a Bourbon Red hen.
Meanwhile, the ducks practically gave us a heart attack by disappearing utterly. The s.o. found them under the poultry house. Sometimes I wonder what goes through their little duck minds.
On the bright side, we have had our first nine-egg day. At least the chickens seem to be doing fine! (And in order to help keep it that way, Maggie is going to have herself a new Speckled Sussex rooster pretty soon...)