Of the remnants of our laying flock there are now only two. We lost most of them during the winter to an opossum, and yesterday one of our oldest hens, Mrs. Taylor, was found dead in the barn. No sign of damage, so the apparent cause of death was most likely age and the appalling heat. She was actually one of three Mrs. Taylors--all three were indistinguishable, and so it was easiest just to give all three the same name. As if chickens pay any attention to what you call them.
Anyway, Bret, who comes home from work each afternoon to much more work, is today cleaning the chicken house in preparation for a new flock. Yesterday it was mowing, the day before unloading hay. We are down to one or two eggs a day, and if we don't want to have to buy eggs along with the milk, then we need some hens soon.
Here's a shot of the lovely chicken coop Bret built:
And here are a few photos of the boys I took while I was out taking pictures of the chicken coop: