So it wasn't our little Ash who done the chickens in.
How do we know?
Cause while David was outside grillin (chicken wings in fact) little Ash came running up to eat the tortilla chips that I had left out for the hens earlier.
In my mind he was bigger than what I remembered- but here he was at our back steps looking for his handout for his scrawny little butt.
He IS little- he's just a kit. No bigger than a small cat,-and skinny. The chickens have more meat on them than he does. Could he kill a chicken? I'm sure, if he tried real hard- but if he ate one (or six) just three hours ago wouldn't we see his belly bulging? Wouldn't he had stayed in, instead of coming to get his Fenway Frank? Would he have come back looking for tortilla chips?
Right up to the back step, knowing that there will be food for him he comes. Porch light on and all. Open the door and he looks at you.
So we checked him out, and fed him.....One hotdog and a piece of old steak and some tortilla chips And as I type he is still out there chomping his big hunk of steak.
David got the little bugger to eat right out of his hand.........
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