|Ooh, I has fashion socks! Hey, Mom!|
Or, yeah, I'm cheap date. Went out after chores to pick the blight-stricken tomatoes for the birds. No sense letting them rot...and the chickens are not fussy.
Although I left most of the bucket for Liz to take down to the big layers I stopped and fed a few to the baby guineas, Laura the hen, the tiny white turkey poult and the gorgeous, incredible, really, really pretty slate grey Americauna/cochin cross that one of the hens hatched this summer.
First I let the silly things out in their yard, which is a hoot in itself. Guineas are like little kids, sure they are missing something, and they boiled out that door like steam out of a kettle.
Then I rolled little red tomatoes down the roof wire, which has spaces large enough to admit a nice one, and waited until they found the right spot to fall through.
Like ducks on a June bug, the birds were on them, fighting as if I was feeding them exotic truffles and there was never going to be another one.
Each new mater caused them to abandon the one before. The yard was littered with red globes, but all eleven were squabbling over the same one every time.
I loved it.
Yep, cheap date.