I like to take my little friends to visit their grandparents' barnyard. We walk out into the chicken yard where there are about 200 chickens and countless chicks. Their pens are designed in a way that allows the chickens to go in and out at their will, so there are always chickens running around the barnyard.My 7 year old nephew remembers all their names, too. As we walk around the barnyard, he points them out to me.
Him: "Hey look, there's Treck. And over here is Carmel and Ruffle."
Me: "How can you tell them apart?"
Him: "If you look close, you can see that Ruffle is a little bit fluffier. Oh, there goes Blackie. And those ones are Tony, Tuffy, and Sparky."
We peer into a pen that has 1 hen, and 5 rooster chicks. One of them strains his neck and begins to crow. It sounds awful. Nothing like a real rooster crow. He sounds like he needs to clear his throat, I think.
Just then my nephew comes over. "Oh, that's Scuffy, the pubert rooster," he says.
