This photo reminds me of the poultry we had at home when I was growing up. It was almost expected that everyone would have chooks and we always did. I can’t remember us ever having a rooster but we did have chickens. When a hen went broody and we were due for some young hens Dad would buy day old chicks and that night he’d give the broody hen a sip of brandy. She’d drop off to sleep and he’d slip the chickens under her. In the morning she would be delighted to discover she’d become a mother overnight and protectively strut about with her new babies. It never failed.
For a while we also had ducks. Mucky buggers. The ones I remember were a couple called, “Lucy” and “Lucky” and you can see Lucy in the photo with a brood. Poor Lucky didn’t live to be a grandad. We had an old auntie living with us, she was our housekeeper and cook. One day she fancied some poultry for dinner and having lived through the Great Depression it never crossed her mind that a duck would be anything but food. She dispatched poor Lucky and he became dinner that night.
Some years later we had geese and I would have been delighted to see Auntie Mavis dispatch every last one of those but that’s another story.