I released the wild baby bunny yesterday afternoon, in spite of the rain. Once his eyes opened, he knew he was different from his adopted family, and usually sat apart from them. Somehow, he shimmied through the cage bars last week in a bid for freedom, only to be chased by Millie, who was in turn chased by Zander. It was pure luck, I think, that he ran at me in the kitchen instead of away from me, and I was able to capture him.
He did the same thing yesterday, and although I had hoped to keep him for just a little while longer until he was a bit bigger and more able to deal with the great outdoors, I decided it was time for us to part ways. I let him loose underneath the great forsythia bush out back, which is a good eight feet across. As safe a place as I could find.
I'll never see him again, but I am glad to have maybe helped him live a wee bit longer.
And today, I picked the third tick off of my body. I have not been anywhere but in my yard and walking the dogs, but still those little fuckers find me. I hate, yet admire, them. They are survivors. But I hate them.
The teenage pullets are thriving. Two are Barred Rock, one is a silver laced Wyandot, and one is an auracauna who will lay blue and green colored eggs. She is adorable, with cute little ear tufts. Still have two that I can't remember/don't know the breed. I'll figure them out once they are older.
Omelet and Henny Penny are fine. Baby follows mom all over the back yard, and I love to hear them communicate with their peeps and throaty hen noises. Henny is such a good mom. When the rain arrived yesterday, I was on my way home from an errand, and all I could think about was mama and baby. It was pouring when I got home, and I rushed out to the back yard enclosure where I found Henny, very wet, but protecting Omelet, who was bone dry. I put them into the coop and they rode out the bad weather in fine mettle.