It has been over two weeks since I last posted, which would have the chicks at almost 7 weeks. They are looking more and more like chickens every day, and less like babies. Beauty is still lovely, and is developing fluffy feathers around her face, making her appear quite cheeky and interesting. The screen doors are up, and I go into the coop on a regular basis just to say hello. They pull on my hair and peck at my clothes, and are in general very curious. I still have no clue which ones are roosters and which are hens, although most of the white ones have prominent (and quite handsomely red) crests and so Marc says that's a sign of maleness.
Having the chicks outside in their own pen has not left our home bereft of fine feathered friends, though. A couple of weeks ago Marc rescued a baby robin from one of the kittens. After a bit of inevitable research, (Thank You, God, for informed family and friends and the internet!) we have learned that robins essentially toss their babies out of the nest and finish teaching the flying/worm-eating/cat-avoiding skills from the ground. Robin is in a cage in our living room, living on all the worms, flies, berries and cat food that he can eat. He flies freely in the house for several hours a day, just to get the hang of it, and is improving. Apparently picking worms up with one's beak and tossing them back is a learned skill. He has been doing the baby robin, gaped mouth thing, and is only now starting to pick up bits of food and berries to eat. Worms will be a challenge, what with the slimy length and all the wiggling.
The cats are interested in him, and of course would turn him into a cat toy in an instant if given the chance. He is adorably brave and charges them, gaping and clicking his beak threateningly. They laugh, poke each other and say, "Hey, bro, watch this!" before they knock him, squeaking in frustration, off his feet. I try to keep Robin and the kittens apart, but I allow the odd supervised confrontation because I don't want Robin to feel safe around the cats. The dog, on the other hand, is pure benignity. Robin has even landed on her back and gone for a ride. He also rides on heads, shoulders and hands. And he poops. A lot. He won't be with us for long, though, and it is amazing what one can tolerate for short periods of time. Today we are starting training on picking up and eating worms. Finding the worms is Grace's job. This week, somehow, I will have to teach him to find worms in the dirt, although I think instincts might kick in. Last week we had a huge worm, much too big for Robin to eat in one bite. I had to cut the thing in 3 parts. Ew. Like, seriously.
So, the chicks are doing well, the rooster is calming down and the hens are as devoted as ever to their Prince Charming. Mini is ever so forbearing and only snarls occasionally at whatever creature happens to be playing with her tail at the time. The kittens are rambunctious and amusing and silly and lovable. Robin is growing brighter and smarter than ever. Pippin has been on antibiotics, and for a week endured eye and nose drops and a painful disinfecting of a large ulcer in his mouth. He also got his hind leg caught in the front porch door and was left stuck in the door for close to five minutes before we noticed. Poor little mister. He limped for a half hour. For a rabbit, he's toughness personified!
People-wise, Gracie spent four days in New York City on a school trip and had a wonderful time. Marc is doing well, busy as ever and I am feeling well and occupied with critter care and Bible study, among other things. Including being pooped on in ever so many ways. Fun, fun, fun. :S
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
Reporting live from the scene of the new chick coop!
I am posting this installment of The Chicken Diaries from a lawn chair in the new chicken coop, with 21 chicks fluttering about me. Actually, 20 chicks are fluttering about, and Beauty is sitting on my arm reading every word I write. Why am I doing this here? Because I can. And this is actually quite a comfortable place to be.
Marc finished the little coop on Tuesday. He's still working on building a screen door for the coop, so that the chicks can get air during the dog days of summer. It has been noted, quite wryly by Grace, that the chicks are getting a nicer door than we have in the house. Life can be cruel sometimes.
The chicks are very happy here. When we put them in, they immediately began running about, stretching and flapping their wings and chest bumping each other. They had been getting crowded in their small pen in the house, and were so funny to watch once they had room to do whatever it is that chicks do when they have lots of room. The pen is about 8 x 6 ft, snuggly walled with plywood and careful designed to keep the babies in and the weasels out. We brought their heat-lit dome in along with their food and water dishes. When we left them on Tuesday night, they did cry, though. Marc stayed behind to listen and heard them cheeping hysterically and flocking at the door. They had been used to us being around all the time, and missed us. I visited them right away the next morning and they had adjusted, although they were happy to see me. At first, when I came in, I would sit in the bedding with them and they would flock to me, climbing on my legs, pecking at my feet,hair etc. Now, the bedding is getting a bit poopy, so I brought in a lawn chair. Beauty, my little Americauna, immediately flies to my lap every time I come in. She wanders about on me for a few moments and then snuggles down in the crook of my arms and goes to sleep. Some of the other chicks will also fly up to my lap, but they are more curious and less relaxed. It is actually quite warm and comfy in here.
The dog and the kittens have been in to check the place out. The kittens are curious, but careful. They sit together in the corner and watch intently. Marc calls it "kitten t.v". Mini comes in because we are here. She is only interested in what is going on with the chicks when they are alarmed. It's a part of the whole "protector of the land" thing. Seems that one can be protective of creatures without caring one whit whether or not they have pooped that day or if they are enjoying their new habitation. Who knew?
One of the funniest things that the chicks do is the tippy-toe chest bump challenge thing. They bounce up to each other, rise up on the very tips of their toes, stretch their scrawny little necks as long as they go and bump into each other. It looks like some sort of challenge, and is very amusing. Stretched out, they are about 10 inches long now. I still cannot imagine how they fit into eggs just four weeks ago. They are in the pre-teen gawky stage now, although Beauty is lovely, with lush black, red and gold feathers and just enough fluff about her face to make her look soft and inviting. Her loveliest feature is her eyes, which are lined in black with a lovely Cleopatra flair.
I'm becoming quite attached to Beauty. Which is a bit worrying. We lost one of our hens a couple of days ago when she got caught in the disk-er in the field. Once the chickens are loose, there are so many dangers to watch out for. I want them to be free, though. It makes them so happy, and for a chicken, a happy, short life is better than a miserable, long life.
Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm about to be pooped on any minute now, so I'm heading back into the house. Oops. Too late.
:)
Marc finished the little coop on Tuesday. He's still working on building a screen door for the coop, so that the chicks can get air during the dog days of summer. It has been noted, quite wryly by Grace, that the chicks are getting a nicer door than we have in the house. Life can be cruel sometimes.
The chicks are very happy here. When we put them in, they immediately began running about, stretching and flapping their wings and chest bumping each other. They had been getting crowded in their small pen in the house, and were so funny to watch once they had room to do whatever it is that chicks do when they have lots of room. The pen is about 8 x 6 ft, snuggly walled with plywood and careful designed to keep the babies in and the weasels out. We brought their heat-lit dome in along with their food and water dishes. When we left them on Tuesday night, they did cry, though. Marc stayed behind to listen and heard them cheeping hysterically and flocking at the door. They had been used to us being around all the time, and missed us. I visited them right away the next morning and they had adjusted, although they were happy to see me. At first, when I came in, I would sit in the bedding with them and they would flock to me, climbing on my legs, pecking at my feet,hair etc. Now, the bedding is getting a bit poopy, so I brought in a lawn chair. Beauty, my little Americauna, immediately flies to my lap every time I come in. She wanders about on me for a few moments and then snuggles down in the crook of my arms and goes to sleep. Some of the other chicks will also fly up to my lap, but they are more curious and less relaxed. It is actually quite warm and comfy in here.
The dog and the kittens have been in to check the place out. The kittens are curious, but careful. They sit together in the corner and watch intently. Marc calls it "kitten t.v". Mini comes in because we are here. She is only interested in what is going on with the chicks when they are alarmed. It's a part of the whole "protector of the land" thing. Seems that one can be protective of creatures without caring one whit whether or not they have pooped that day or if they are enjoying their new habitation. Who knew?
One of the funniest things that the chicks do is the tippy-toe chest bump challenge thing. They bounce up to each other, rise up on the very tips of their toes, stretch their scrawny little necks as long as they go and bump into each other. It looks like some sort of challenge, and is very amusing. Stretched out, they are about 10 inches long now. I still cannot imagine how they fit into eggs just four weeks ago. They are in the pre-teen gawky stage now, although Beauty is lovely, with lush black, red and gold feathers and just enough fluff about her face to make her look soft and inviting. Her loveliest feature is her eyes, which are lined in black with a lovely Cleopatra flair.
I'm becoming quite attached to Beauty. Which is a bit worrying. We lost one of our hens a couple of days ago when she got caught in the disk-er in the field. Once the chickens are loose, there are so many dangers to watch out for. I want them to be free, though. It makes them so happy, and for a chicken, a happy, short life is better than a miserable, long life.
Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm about to be pooped on any minute now, so I'm heading back into the house. Oops. Too late.
:)
Saturday, June 5, 2010
The natives are restless!
Yesterday, our chicks were three weeks old. It is hard to believe that these gawky, 3/4 feather, 1/4 fluff little guys were tiny balls of pure fluff only three weeks ago. They are still in the pen in the dining area of my small downstairs. They still cheep like babies, which is endearing. Many have them have taken to perching on the walls of the cardboard pen. Occasionally one falls off on the wrong side and ends up on the floor outside of the pen, either squawking hysterically and wandering dumbly about as if in a daze. Either way, it freaks them out. The world is still too big for them. Staring out at it from the safety of the pen wall seems to be about all that they can handle. Now. By this time next week, they'll probably be nesting on the dining room chairs and leaving little poopy surprises in our shoes.
And yes, the house does carry a hint of eau de chicken coop about it. Except for yesterday, when it smelled enchantingly of boeuf bourguignon. But still, as rabid as I am about cleaning out the pen, one can't deny that there are 20 chickens living in my house. I am not complaining though. Marc has been helping a dear friend who is alone and really needs the help, fixing her water pump in her little house and making sure she has what she needs. It has been a longer job than he thought it would, but it has given him an opportunity to spend time talking to her, and she has really needed the encouragement that he brings. I so love the fact that he does this kind of thing. He truly is a man after my own heart. The coop will get done when the coop gets done and in the meantime, we get to enjoy the novelty of the chicks and keep the windows open at all times.
I am grateful that the rest of the animals seem to pose no threat to the chicks when one of them unwittingly escapes. The kittens just watch them from afar. I suspect there was a bit of swatting a chick around at some point, but the sheer hysteria that resulted proved to be a deterrent. Mini, the dog, just sighs, rolls her eyes and goes upstairs. The last thing that she is interested in is another small, stupid creature that she has to keep from becoming hawk food. Bunny, should he ever be in contact with a chick, will no doubt try to get lucky.
Sadly, the only creatures about that we really need to be concerned about will be the other chickens. I hear there is a whole procedure to introducing new chickens into the flock. Otherwise, it can get rough. Apparently, one way to introduce new hens is the put the hen into the coop at night, while everyone else is asleep. The next morning, when they wake up, they'll just assume the new girl was always there. That's one way to put the chicken's famed lack of brain power to good use. Wonder if they'd notice 20 new chickens...?
And yes, the house does carry a hint of eau de chicken coop about it. Except for yesterday, when it smelled enchantingly of boeuf bourguignon. But still, as rabid as I am about cleaning out the pen, one can't deny that there are 20 chickens living in my house. I am not complaining though. Marc has been helping a dear friend who is alone and really needs the help, fixing her water pump in her little house and making sure she has what she needs. It has been a longer job than he thought it would, but it has given him an opportunity to spend time talking to her, and she has really needed the encouragement that he brings. I so love the fact that he does this kind of thing. He truly is a man after my own heart. The coop will get done when the coop gets done and in the meantime, we get to enjoy the novelty of the chicks and keep the windows open at all times.
I am grateful that the rest of the animals seem to pose no threat to the chicks when one of them unwittingly escapes. The kittens just watch them from afar. I suspect there was a bit of swatting a chick around at some point, but the sheer hysteria that resulted proved to be a deterrent. Mini, the dog, just sighs, rolls her eyes and goes upstairs. The last thing that she is interested in is another small, stupid creature that she has to keep from becoming hawk food. Bunny, should he ever be in contact with a chick, will no doubt try to get lucky.
Sadly, the only creatures about that we really need to be concerned about will be the other chickens. I hear there is a whole procedure to introducing new chickens into the flock. Otherwise, it can get rough. Apparently, one way to introduce new hens is the put the hen into the coop at night, while everyone else is asleep. The next morning, when they wake up, they'll just assume the new girl was always there. That's one way to put the chicken's famed lack of brain power to good use. Wonder if they'd notice 20 new chickens...?
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Coop delays, a tumbling kitten and a roughed up bunny...
Well, our twenty little chicks have gleefully entered the bald eagle stage, with their little heads being the only places where they still have fluff and their bodies are covered in lovely, albeit in some places short and funny-looking, feathers. This morning I was upstairs preparing for a bath and I heard a frantic distress cheep from below. One of the chicks had flown the coop, and his bravery left him as soon as he hit linoleum. He fairly ran into my hand when I came to rescue him. Sweet, that between freedom in the vast domain of my tiny downstairs (kitten-ridden as it is) and capture by Queen Gigantor (that'd be me), I am the lesser evil.
Marc is still working on the coop, but his travail has been interrupted several times this week by doctor's appointments and distress calls from friends. I know it is a bit of a pain having the chicks in the house, and the smell demands frequent cleanings (always more stressful on the chicks than on me), and there have been a few show-downs between kittens and chicks, the outcomes of which could be debatable had they been allowed to continue. The kittens are just kittenish enough to be easily spooked by flapping wings and hysterical squawking. I really appreciate Marc's willingness to spend time helping people who need it, though. There are a few older ladies who have been having plumbing and housing problems, and Marc is good at that kind of thing. I love that about him. I'd do it myself if I could. So, the chicks remain in the house, and my Beauty watches t.v with me every night. I cover his eyes during the rough bits, don't worry.
Sawyer, the kitten, fell out of the tree on Tuesday night. He was 20 feet up, and did several flips on the way down. He hit the ground on his feet, but winded himself, panting and limping for a few moments afterward. In the end, he was okay, but man alive, it is not a relaxing thing to watch two kittens play in a tree. They egg each other on to greater heights, so very proud of their bravado without a thought to the anxiety-ridden momma watching from below. Beasts. When my previous cat, Frodo, was a kitten, I remember being surprised at how clumsy he was. He was forever falling down stairs, running into doors and walls, skidding into chairs, feet and water dishes. It must be the smallness of the house. There's room to get going, but no room to stop. The kittens are like that too. They're like newbie skaters, using the boards to come to crashing halts. Only the kittens speed about at full tilt. The crashes are magnificent.
My sister came with her kids a few weeks ago, and she was cautioning the boys to be careful with the kittens. They're just babies, she said. They may be just babies, but with all the body slamming, stair tossing, face slugging, head butting, and just general smashing they're doing, they're either made of rubber or wonderfully padded....somewhere.
I am doing very well, physically. My bladder is being exuberantly kind to me, which is good because if a bladder is going to do anything exuberantly, it's best that it do it kindly. Of course, I am experiencing a bit of menstrual misery, which is another post for another blog (The Menstrual Diaries?), but frankly, who cares?
Everyone else is doing well. The seven chickens that remain in my little flock are all healthy and busy de-worming/bugging/weeding the perimeter. Bunny had to have his two bottom teeth taken out again, as they were loose and causing him misery, but he was immediately rejuvenated afterward. He doesn't even flinch when we have to do anything with his teeth, which is good because it gives me convulsions and there's no need for everyone to suffer. He also has infected eyes...again. And a cut, infected lip. I'm telling you, if he'd stop trying to rough up the rooster, he'd probably be in better shape. But he wouldn't be nearly as happy. I doctor him up several times a day. Drops in the eyes, Vet RX on the sides of his little nose for the snuffles, antibiotic cream for the sore inside his lip and a spray of peroxide for the sore on the outside of his lip. But, like I said, he's happy.
The dog, bless her heart, continues to be patient. Scooby snaxs help a lot.
Marc is still working on the coop, but his travail has been interrupted several times this week by doctor's appointments and distress calls from friends. I know it is a bit of a pain having the chicks in the house, and the smell demands frequent cleanings (always more stressful on the chicks than on me), and there have been a few show-downs between kittens and chicks, the outcomes of which could be debatable had they been allowed to continue. The kittens are just kittenish enough to be easily spooked by flapping wings and hysterical squawking. I really appreciate Marc's willingness to spend time helping people who need it, though. There are a few older ladies who have been having plumbing and housing problems, and Marc is good at that kind of thing. I love that about him. I'd do it myself if I could. So, the chicks remain in the house, and my Beauty watches t.v with me every night. I cover his eyes during the rough bits, don't worry.
Sawyer, the kitten, fell out of the tree on Tuesday night. He was 20 feet up, and did several flips on the way down. He hit the ground on his feet, but winded himself, panting and limping for a few moments afterward. In the end, he was okay, but man alive, it is not a relaxing thing to watch two kittens play in a tree. They egg each other on to greater heights, so very proud of their bravado without a thought to the anxiety-ridden momma watching from below. Beasts. When my previous cat, Frodo, was a kitten, I remember being surprised at how clumsy he was. He was forever falling down stairs, running into doors and walls, skidding into chairs, feet and water dishes. It must be the smallness of the house. There's room to get going, but no room to stop. The kittens are like that too. They're like newbie skaters, using the boards to come to crashing halts. Only the kittens speed about at full tilt. The crashes are magnificent.
My sister came with her kids a few weeks ago, and she was cautioning the boys to be careful with the kittens. They're just babies, she said. They may be just babies, but with all the body slamming, stair tossing, face slugging, head butting, and just general smashing they're doing, they're either made of rubber or wonderfully padded....somewhere.
I am doing very well, physically. My bladder is being exuberantly kind to me, which is good because if a bladder is going to do anything exuberantly, it's best that it do it kindly. Of course, I am experiencing a bit of menstrual misery, which is another post for another blog (The Menstrual Diaries?), but frankly, who cares?
Everyone else is doing well. The seven chickens that remain in my little flock are all healthy and busy de-worming/bugging/weeding the perimeter. Bunny had to have his two bottom teeth taken out again, as they were loose and causing him misery, but he was immediately rejuvenated afterward. He doesn't even flinch when we have to do anything with his teeth, which is good because it gives me convulsions and there's no need for everyone to suffer. He also has infected eyes...again. And a cut, infected lip. I'm telling you, if he'd stop trying to rough up the rooster, he'd probably be in better shape. But he wouldn't be nearly as happy. I doctor him up several times a day. Drops in the eyes, Vet RX on the sides of his little nose for the snuffles, antibiotic cream for the sore inside his lip and a spray of peroxide for the sore on the outside of his lip. But, like I said, he's happy.
The dog, bless her heart, continues to be patient. Scooby snaxs help a lot.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Come, kittens! Come, kittens!
This morning, I found one of the chicks perched on the top of the pen. Clearly it's time to get their new coop ready and move them. Otherwise, I may wake up one morning to a chick nesting in my hair. It's hard to believe they are only two weeks old. For the past two weeks, we have been putting the kittens in the bathroom for the night because we didn't want them making an impromptu visit to the pen. They've been fairly content with the arrangement, as when I make my multiple nightly visits they are always curled up together and seem happy to see me, but not overly eager to escape. For the past two nights, they have been left out in the house at night. To be honest, the chicks are outgrowing the kittens, and at this point if a kitten did end up in the pen, the chaos created by 20 hysterical, wing-flapping, high pitched cheeping, body slamming chicks would send the poor little fellow crawling up the wall and out in a blink of an eye.
Most evenings I take a walk down our lane. I like to take as many animals with me as a possible. There is no question about the dog. If I so much as walk out the front door after supper she convulsively leaps to her feet and barrels down the lane in anticipation. Of course, there's no helping the droopy disappointment if I'm just heading out to the lawn chair with a book. The bunny goes where the dog does. He's reluctant, but dedicated. He does have a tendency to wuss out on the way home though, flopping over in the middle of the lane and refusing to move. He hates being carried, so the threat of being tucked under my arm usually gets him going again.
The kittens are another matter altogether. My last cat, Frodo, (bless his wandering heart) went with us for every walk, from the time he was 7 weeks old. Even at that young age, when he got tired he hated being carried and kept insisting he could make it on his own. Sheldon and Sawyer have no interest in walks, and prefer wrestling in the dirt under the porch, chasing butterflies and throwing each other down the front steps. I tried carrying them partway down the lane and then putting them down, hoping they'd follow. Instead, they wrestled in the dirt, chased butterflies and threw each other into the ditch, there being no stairs handy. I then tried carrying one of them while the other one stood forlornly in the lane trying to decide exactly how much he really needed his brother, after all. We had a bit of success with this method, as it turns out they are pretty attached to each other, and once trotting along beside us, they seemed to enjoy themselves.
Last night I just took Sheldon with me. Sawyer was sound asleep on the couch, and I couldn't bear to disturb him. Just kidding. My alternate choice of activity last night, had the walk not panned out, would have been flicking his whiskers to see how long it would take him to wake up. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what they say about the easily amused...
Anyway, I took Sheldon with me, carried him part of the way down the lane and then put him down and kept walking. He turned to head back, saw how far it was, chased a bug into the edge of the lane, beat up a few blades of grass, saw I had moved on, sat down on the lane and cried. Then he followed. I didn't go the entire way down the lane, as I unexpectedly needed a potty break and the farmers were working the adjoining fields. The trees by the side of the lane don't provide that much privacy. Besides, bunny started flopping over sooner than usual, probably due to a slow recovery from the intense heat that we've been having. Mini the dog had already done 3 trips up and down the lane to my 1/2, so she was okay with heading back. By the time we returned, Sheldon was doing the "running w/the pack thing", trying to keep up with Mini and feeling all big-boyish. It was sweet.
On a sadder note, one of our hens is sick and didn't end up in the hen house last night. She's had diarrhea since I stopped the antibiotics I was giving them for a respiratory problem several of them had. I have been feeding her kefir on chunks of bread, kefir being a highly probiotic fermented milk drink. She has been eating well, but hanging around the house and looking quiet. She's been sweet, because every time I go out of the house she follows me around and sits under my chair if I'm lounging. Chickens are social creatures, and it's been hard for her, that the other chickens have been touring the grounds and she has been left behind. I hope that she is just tucked under somewhere getting better. That's not likely though. Sadness.
Most evenings I take a walk down our lane. I like to take as many animals with me as a possible. There is no question about the dog. If I so much as walk out the front door after supper she convulsively leaps to her feet and barrels down the lane in anticipation. Of course, there's no helping the droopy disappointment if I'm just heading out to the lawn chair with a book. The bunny goes where the dog does. He's reluctant, but dedicated. He does have a tendency to wuss out on the way home though, flopping over in the middle of the lane and refusing to move. He hates being carried, so the threat of being tucked under my arm usually gets him going again.
The kittens are another matter altogether. My last cat, Frodo, (bless his wandering heart) went with us for every walk, from the time he was 7 weeks old. Even at that young age, when he got tired he hated being carried and kept insisting he could make it on his own. Sheldon and Sawyer have no interest in walks, and prefer wrestling in the dirt under the porch, chasing butterflies and throwing each other down the front steps. I tried carrying them partway down the lane and then putting them down, hoping they'd follow. Instead, they wrestled in the dirt, chased butterflies and threw each other into the ditch, there being no stairs handy. I then tried carrying one of them while the other one stood forlornly in the lane trying to decide exactly how much he really needed his brother, after all. We had a bit of success with this method, as it turns out they are pretty attached to each other, and once trotting along beside us, they seemed to enjoy themselves.
Last night I just took Sheldon with me. Sawyer was sound asleep on the couch, and I couldn't bear to disturb him. Just kidding. My alternate choice of activity last night, had the walk not panned out, would have been flicking his whiskers to see how long it would take him to wake up. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what they say about the easily amused...
Anyway, I took Sheldon with me, carried him part of the way down the lane and then put him down and kept walking. He turned to head back, saw how far it was, chased a bug into the edge of the lane, beat up a few blades of grass, saw I had moved on, sat down on the lane and cried. Then he followed. I didn't go the entire way down the lane, as I unexpectedly needed a potty break and the farmers were working the adjoining fields. The trees by the side of the lane don't provide that much privacy. Besides, bunny started flopping over sooner than usual, probably due to a slow recovery from the intense heat that we've been having. Mini the dog had already done 3 trips up and down the lane to my 1/2, so she was okay with heading back. By the time we returned, Sheldon was doing the "running w/the pack thing", trying to keep up with Mini and feeling all big-boyish. It was sweet.
On a sadder note, one of our hens is sick and didn't end up in the hen house last night. She's had diarrhea since I stopped the antibiotics I was giving them for a respiratory problem several of them had. I have been feeding her kefir on chunks of bread, kefir being a highly probiotic fermented milk drink. She has been eating well, but hanging around the house and looking quiet. She's been sweet, because every time I go out of the house she follows me around and sits under my chair if I'm lounging. Chickens are social creatures, and it's been hard for her, that the other chickens have been touring the grounds and she has been left behind. I hope that she is just tucked under somewhere getting better. That's not likely though. Sadness.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Hello, little chick, how fast can you grow?
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The final tally
I was kindly reminded yesterday that it had been a few days since I have updated. Thanks, Howard. :) We were up until 2:30 am on Sunday morning, and then Sunday was a huge day and so yesterday I basically crashed. In the sun with a book and the critters. Lovely day.
The hatching was pretty much finished on Saturday night. After several efforts to count the fuzzy little bundles in the pen, we think we may have 20 chicks. If they'd stop moving for a minute, we'd know for sure.
We were initially told to put twice as many eggs in the incubator as we wanted to hatch, because we'd lose half of them, which is pretty much what happened. About six of the chicks died in the process of hatching, one died shortly after, one died a day later and the rest of the eggs didn't hatch, either because they died somewhere in the midst of the development or because they were never fertilized.
The saddest thing was watching the chicks that had been trying to hatch all day grow weak and then die. We knew that we shouldn't help them out, and that was tough. In fact, late Saturday afternoon I was watching one that had been trying to hatch, and I did reach in and flick a bit of shell off for her. Later, Marc was watching her, and he confessed to me that he had helped her, too. She did eventually get out, but she was the one who died shortly after her birth. If they don't have the strength to get out of the egg, they won't be able to survive life outside the egg. Poor little things. We were disappointed that only one of the Americauna chicks hatched. She's a beauty, though. I say she because there is no way I can tell what sex they are yet, so I am alternating between he and she. I think we are going to try to get a few more Americauna eggs to hatch later.
After they had dried in the incubator, we popped them into the pen. Marc had made a plastic dome out of half a barrel, and threaded the heat lamp through it. He propped it up on bricks and the temperature in the dome is perfect for them. They can linger around the edge of it if it gets too warm for them, or go inside right under the heat light if it gets cool in the room. They started popping around almost immediately. They were like little Weebles, running around, wobbling and falling over and popping back up. They cheep incessantly, but usually it's a soft noise and not intrusive at all. Sometimes there's a bit of a tussle between a couple of the chicks and their voices will raise as they tell each other off, but nothing lasts too long.
Mini is interested in them, and peers over the top of the pen occasionally, especially when the cheeping is loud and they sound distressed. The kittens are also interested, but they can't get into the pen. They can hear the cheeping and pecking and think, "Play toys!!!"
I've been taking pictures,and will try to upload some to my Photobucket account and post links. I'm in a bladder flare, and am not feeling great, so I think today might be another crash day. I feel like I am wasting the sunny warm weather, but there no rule saying I can't crash outside, right?!
I've really enjoyed this whole experience, even if the hatching did happen on the busiest week-end we've had in ages. It was so exciting, and the babies are adorable. Now, the adventure of watching them grow begins. They already have wing feathers coming. I think, like all babies, this stage will pass quickly.
I wonder what teen-age chickens are like?
Yikes. ;)
The hatching was pretty much finished on Saturday night. After several efforts to count the fuzzy little bundles in the pen, we think we may have 20 chicks. If they'd stop moving for a minute, we'd know for sure.
We were initially told to put twice as many eggs in the incubator as we wanted to hatch, because we'd lose half of them, which is pretty much what happened. About six of the chicks died in the process of hatching, one died shortly after, one died a day later and the rest of the eggs didn't hatch, either because they died somewhere in the midst of the development or because they were never fertilized.
The saddest thing was watching the chicks that had been trying to hatch all day grow weak and then die. We knew that we shouldn't help them out, and that was tough. In fact, late Saturday afternoon I was watching one that had been trying to hatch, and I did reach in and flick a bit of shell off for her. Later, Marc was watching her, and he confessed to me that he had helped her, too. She did eventually get out, but she was the one who died shortly after her birth. If they don't have the strength to get out of the egg, they won't be able to survive life outside the egg. Poor little things. We were disappointed that only one of the Americauna chicks hatched. She's a beauty, though. I say she because there is no way I can tell what sex they are yet, so I am alternating between he and she. I think we are going to try to get a few more Americauna eggs to hatch later.
After they had dried in the incubator, we popped them into the pen. Marc had made a plastic dome out of half a barrel, and threaded the heat lamp through it. He propped it up on bricks and the temperature in the dome is perfect for them. They can linger around the edge of it if it gets too warm for them, or go inside right under the heat light if it gets cool in the room. They started popping around almost immediately. They were like little Weebles, running around, wobbling and falling over and popping back up. They cheep incessantly, but usually it's a soft noise and not intrusive at all. Sometimes there's a bit of a tussle between a couple of the chicks and their voices will raise as they tell each other off, but nothing lasts too long.
Mini is interested in them, and peers over the top of the pen occasionally, especially when the cheeping is loud and they sound distressed. The kittens are also interested, but they can't get into the pen. They can hear the cheeping and pecking and think, "Play toys!!!"
I've been taking pictures,and will try to upload some to my Photobucket account and post links. I'm in a bladder flare, and am not feeling great, so I think today might be another crash day. I feel like I am wasting the sunny warm weather, but there no rule saying I can't crash outside, right?!
I've really enjoyed this whole experience, even if the hatching did happen on the busiest week-end we've had in ages. It was so exciting, and the babies are adorable. Now, the adventure of watching them grow begins. They already have wing feathers coming. I think, like all babies, this stage will pass quickly.
I wonder what teen-age chickens are like?
Yikes. ;)
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