An update on our chicken experiment. The one where we’re comparing a selectively bred Cornish Cross with the dual purpose Plymouth Rock from chick to table. Here they are on their third day with us:
And here they are after approximately three weeks with us. Unfortunately, they. . .well, the Plymouth Rock, at least. . . no longer sit still where you put them. I have a ton of blurry pictures with a Cornish Cross looking blithely at the camera and a hyper active black blur running away. But no matter. After three weeks with us, I think you can see the size difference becoming quite apparent, even in the less than ideal picture.
Mr. Cornish cross already weighs an impressive approximate 580 grams. It is hard to tell with all the flapping that goes on trying to hold a bird on a scale. Mr. Plymouth Rock, on the other hand, was a measly 180 grams. That’s a hefty difference.
But the poor Cornish cross pays for it. Not just because he’s likely to end up on our table in half the time of his little cousin, but all the sorry creature can do is eat. He parks next to the food dish and consumes. Outside, he is lured by his nature to stand and scratch and maybe have a spat or two with the other chickens. But he’s already developing a bit of a waddle under his weight and has to stop for frequent rests.
The Plymouth Rocks, on the other hand, are busy all the time. Pecking, scratching, flapping about. Being chickens, and rather feisty ones at that. For pleasure to have around, the Plymouth Rocks certainly outscore the Cornish crosses.
And the children, I believe, are adjusting to the idea of slaughtering the birds. When I first brought them home and shared the plans, Bear (7) shared his plans to hide the birds when the big day came. Recently, they’ve been marveling at the size of the breasts and discussing which they think will taste the best. Mouse even went down to the 4H office and signed up for the broiler project even though she knows that means taking on ten birds we’ll have to slaughter.
And as for the rest, all that rest that is making it impossible to concentrate. Well, just let me say it involves a stakeout, among other adventures, and hope you come back later when I am able to sort through my thoughts enough to compose them.