It has now been 7 weeks and our two surviving chicks are still surviving, despite the best efforts of all three of our next door neighbor’s cats (Little Man Paul, Bruno, and I’m afraid I don’t remember).  But the chicks never let me close enough to get a decent picture, which is why I haven’t been bombarding you with their tiny cuteness.

Here’s the one with green legs, hanging out with Mama Chicken.

Because they are still tiny!  Unlike broiler chickens which are bigger and meatier than even our grown up rooster by the time they are 4-6 weeks old (life is truly nasty, brutal, and short if you’re a broiler chicken. Also generally totally lacking sunlight or any other experience of the outdoors), our baby chickens are really still babies. Although I suspect Mama Chicken is now less than a week shy of giving up clucking over them.

The little chickens are never more adorable than when they are grooming themselves, or when rolling in their dirt baths, trying to work sand throughout their feathers.

Spouse and I are still disagreeing over the hens versus roosters issue.  He’s firmly in Team Two Hens and I’ve got both feet behind Team Two Roosters.  Judging by how much Bertie Rooster hates the two little chickens, going out of his way to knock them off their roosts or peck them away from the food, I think Bertie’s money is also on two roosters.

Our wimpy little Bertie Rooster, a big chicken but not an even average sized rooster, trying to decide who is more of a threat to his tenuous authority, me or the yellow legged baby chicken and possibly rooster-in-waiting.