Well, it has been a long time since I have updated this blog, at least a week which is months in chick years. I would feel guilty, really I would, but I've been too ill to care. About the blog, that is. The chicks, on the other hand, have continued to be 20 bundles of chirping, fluffy, feathery fun and an endless source of amusement while the chronic illness I have, interstitial cystitis, has been kicking my butt.
Marc is sure that the chicks are mostly roosters, because they are all so darn pretty. He could be right. They are gorgeous. One thing that is surprising is that many of them are white, and we didn't have any eggs from our white hen. She died from a rabid respiratory illness a few months ago. The eggs were all brown, except for the Americauna ones, which were robin blue. I thought it was supposed to be, brown eggs, "brown" chickens. Oddness. They seem to have almost tripled in size, and began to develop feathers almost immediately. The feathers came out so quickly, I'm sure if I held a chick for an hour or two and watched him, I'd be able to see them growing!
Gracie picked out a chick to be her special pet, and called her Muffin. When she's sitting to watch t.v or do homework, she puts the chick on her shoulder. It's beyond cute. I am trying to win the heart of the Americauna. I named her Beauty. I thought that if she turns out to be a he, I'd change his name to Beast, but I don't think that will happen. He's just too lovely.
We've had some seriously hot weather, lately, and the chicks were afraid of the ceiling fan in the dining area. When I put it on, they all flipping out and piled themselves into a corner, frantically cheeping. Earlier this week, I had to clean out the pen. I used a broom to sweep the shredded paper bedding into piles, which of course caused no end of cheeping and wailing and corner piling. I figured since I was already traumatizing them, I might as well try the fan out again, and this time they didn't react to it. I guess it's all about perspective. Moving propellers on the ceiling pale in comparison to the big red broom chasing them around our home. We all very much appreciate their new found courage, because the temperature soared, at times in the 40's in the sun, and the ability to use the fan was a godsend. Brave little darlings.
So, yesterday I was lying on a lawn chair in the shade of the maple tree in the yard. A chicken was asleep under my chair, panting. The rest of the hens and Bruce were slowly wandering the lawn, pecking at things and holding their wings out slightly to let the warm breeze cool their wing-pits. The dog was sprawled out beside me, chasing squirrels in her mind. Bunny was spread out near the dog. The kittens, still dubbed The Farty Boys, were wrestling madly, throwing each other into the rhubarb, chasing each other up the tree and then pushing each other off of the tree, playing chicken with each other and chest bumping in midair. Frankly, it's a good thing they have each other, because nobody was up to playing with them. They had been growled at by the dog, pecked at by a hen or two, and even the bunny wasn't interested. I just wanted to kiss them, but they did the usual squirming, "aw, mom!" stuff.
It was sunny and hot and the wild pink roses were out. I love the wild roses. It felt peaceful. And I was happy.
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