Death Monday was pretty rough. My daughter came in from her normal morning check of the chickens and ducks and said, “I think Frances was attacked.” Out I rushed, and my daughter led me to the trail of feathers, the splatters of blood, the slaughtered but uneaten carcass of our female duck, Frances. Her neck…
Death
Get A Shovel. This is Urban Homesteading.
Today I put about thirty pounds of pork belly into cure for bacon and pancetta, made a loaf of bread, mixed a bottle of homemade citrus cleaner, and buried one dead chicken. Get a shovel. This is urban homesteading. If you keep chickens, dead chickens are part of the deal. You get what you get…