I watched one of the hens lay an egg this morning. I don't usually hang around the coop waiting for breakfast to drop, but this is our last older hen, and lately she has decided that if the young hens are going to use her laying boxes, she's defecting to the front porch. There's a box in the porch that has some bedding in it that I had used when I was nursing one of the older hens.
This hen, affectionately dubbed the old lady, leaves the coop as soon as I open it in the morning and heads to the porch. There, she meets Pippin, the watch bunny, who's self-appointed role is to keep any and all chickens off of the porch. His methods are adorable, and quite effective. He plants his head into the fluffy hen bottoms and chases them while they run, flap and squawk their way around the porch trying to get away from the freak with his head up their bums. I'm not sure how the old lady makes it into the porch each morning to lay, but she is determine, and it is possible that her age gives her an advantage. She's smart.
Today, I took pity on her and carried her into the box. While she was getting ready to lay, I busied myself by sweeping bunny plops off of the porch. It never gets old, watching the hens lay. When our foster girls come for a visit and I know a hen is about to lay, I let them know about it. They'll go and stand by the porch watching, and will remain there for quite a while for the privilege of bringing in the latest arrival.
The young hens have begun to lay the most cunning little eggs. Yesterday there were six of them. There are 11 hens, counting the one old lady. I am saving the small eggs up and will make pickled eggs with them, as they are just the right size for it. The eggs will get larger as they continue to lay. They always remind me of Cadbury chocolate eggs, so round and brown and miniature.
It has been a while since I have written about some of the other inhabitants of our furry/feathery home. The kittens are no longer kittens, having grown into large, strapping toms. They are something like 6 or 7 months, and seem large for their age. They are also as sweet as cats come. They are endearingly affectionate with each other, and with the other animals. It is not uncommon to see them together, wrapped around Pippin on the front porch and sleeping when we rise in the morning.
We have been taking care of a young Pomeranian, Toby, since the beginning of August. He was a little crazy when he first came. He had spent a lot of time in a cage, and was desperate to use up his energy and have some adventures. He was so bouncy and eager that Mini was promptly turned off. The chickens ran from him, and the cats eyed him cautiously.
When he first arrived, I pulled him up on my lap and told him that his best bet for a critter friend around here would be Sheldon, one of the kittens. Sheldon is a calm, patient, laid back fellow, and he seemed interested in Toby. In fact, Sheldon is so low key, he would sit on the floor and placidly watch Toby race in convulsive circles around him. The other animals just didn't have the patience or the nerves to deal with Toby. When Toby would wear himself out and curl up on the couch for a sleep, Sheldon would approach him and curl up beside him.
Toby has settled down quite a bit now, and has made friends with almost everybody. Mini is still skeptical, but at least she's not trying to beat him up anymore. At any given moment, Toby can be found pulling a cat around the floor by his tail, or stealing corn cobs from the chickens, or dancing on his hind legs for treats and just utterly charming us all into oblivion. Everyone seems okay with him. He is the same size as the cats, and they have always played roughly with each other so I think when he plays with them, they see him as just another cat. Only his teeth seem to hurt more when he gnaws on their legs, but a quick paw upside the head solves that problem.
We'll miss Toby when he goes home.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
Imprisoned Roos and New Mothers
Well, the boys are in lock up. Last week was a little bittersweet. One of the young hens began laying, the smallest, brownest sweet eggs tucked in with the older hens' jumbos.
At the same time, the young roosters took their amorous activities to a new and dangerous level. They started swarming one of the older hens, and actually got so rough with her that she died. I scooped her out from under them a few times, and I wish I had seen how rough they were getting. Up until literally the day before, the older hens put up with very little from the young roos, and could send the pack of them running with a mild charge. I'm not sure what changed.
After the first hen died, the roos started going after the other older hens and Bruce couldn't contend with a pack of 10 - 11 young studs ganging up on his two remaining girls. We had to lock the boys up in the chick pen, and leave all the hens with Bruce in the older coop. I did go into the boys' coop and pick out one more rooster to add to the flock of hens and Bruce. There are 12 hens and 2 roosters now, and it seems to be working well.
I do feel bad for the roosters. They are such a regal, handsome lot. The new coop has screen doors, and the boys stand at the door looking forlornly out at the world. Every once in a while I'll see a young hen at the screen door, peering in at her brothers and perhaps wondering why they can't come out to play. But life goes on.
Today, there were two small eggs in the laying boxes with the big eggs. The girls are starting to lay. Bruce and the new roo (I'm thinking Gaston for a name, but we haven't decided yet) seem to be dividing the hen care without too much fuss. The young hens have taken nicely to Bruce. I think there can often be drama attached to adding a new group of hens to a flock, and especially when they come with a young rooster as well. Allowing them to range freely and get used to each other in an environment when they can come and go as they please has been helpful. The merging of the two groups has been gradual, but we have been able to give them the time and space for it.
For a few nights after the roos were locked into the new coop, the hens had a hard time figuring out that they needed to go to the old coop for bedtime. We had to pluck them out of trees and the shed, off of the lawn tractor and the fences, and off of the window sill of the new coop, where three or four of them would cram together. They are fairly tame, and so it wasn't hard to scoop them up and deposit them into the old coop. Chickens are truly creatures of habit.
I visit the young roos daily, bringing them treats and talking to them, petting them, etc. I think, if it is possible to give them away, I want to be able to offer roos that are socialized and less likely to be unnecessarily aggressive. Even though Bruce can be testy, he is a master protector of the flock and generally only attacks when he feels his girls are threatened. I have to admit, I admire this. His judgment may not always be spot on, but I have numerous memories of watching him stand out in the open, bravely eying a winged predator while his girls were tucked safely under the scaffolding or bushes. Or repeatedly plunging his face into a thorn infested rose bush, plucking blossoms to offer as treats for his girls. What a guy.
At the same time, the young roosters took their amorous activities to a new and dangerous level. They started swarming one of the older hens, and actually got so rough with her that she died. I scooped her out from under them a few times, and I wish I had seen how rough they were getting. Up until literally the day before, the older hens put up with very little from the young roos, and could send the pack of them running with a mild charge. I'm not sure what changed.
After the first hen died, the roos started going after the other older hens and Bruce couldn't contend with a pack of 10 - 11 young studs ganging up on his two remaining girls. We had to lock the boys up in the chick pen, and leave all the hens with Bruce in the older coop. I did go into the boys' coop and pick out one more rooster to add to the flock of hens and Bruce. There are 12 hens and 2 roosters now, and it seems to be working well.
I do feel bad for the roosters. They are such a regal, handsome lot. The new coop has screen doors, and the boys stand at the door looking forlornly out at the world. Every once in a while I'll see a young hen at the screen door, peering in at her brothers and perhaps wondering why they can't come out to play. But life goes on.
Today, there were two small eggs in the laying boxes with the big eggs. The girls are starting to lay. Bruce and the new roo (I'm thinking Gaston for a name, but we haven't decided yet) seem to be dividing the hen care without too much fuss. The young hens have taken nicely to Bruce. I think there can often be drama attached to adding a new group of hens to a flock, and especially when they come with a young rooster as well. Allowing them to range freely and get used to each other in an environment when they can come and go as they please has been helpful. The merging of the two groups has been gradual, but we have been able to give them the time and space for it.
For a few nights after the roos were locked into the new coop, the hens had a hard time figuring out that they needed to go to the old coop for bedtime. We had to pluck them out of trees and the shed, off of the lawn tractor and the fences, and off of the window sill of the new coop, where three or four of them would cram together. They are fairly tame, and so it wasn't hard to scoop them up and deposit them into the old coop. Chickens are truly creatures of habit.
I visit the young roos daily, bringing them treats and talking to them, petting them, etc. I think, if it is possible to give them away, I want to be able to offer roos that are socialized and less likely to be unnecessarily aggressive. Even though Bruce can be testy, he is a master protector of the flock and generally only attacks when he feels his girls are threatened. I have to admit, I admire this. His judgment may not always be spot on, but I have numerous memories of watching him stand out in the open, bravely eying a winged predator while his girls were tucked safely under the scaffolding or bushes. Or repeatedly plunging his face into a thorn infested rose bush, plucking blossoms to offer as treats for his girls. What a guy.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Roo News
Marc has now told me that as long as Bruce, the head honcho roo, is able to stay on top, there should be very little fighting among the young roos. Huh. Why did I think they'd be at each other's throats as soon as the testosterone hit their brains? Apparently if Bruce loses ground and the youngsters see an opening, the battle begins and continues until someone wins and takes over Bruce's place.
Bruce is a young fellow himself, and quite masterful so I don't see why we can't have peace with everyone safe from the stew pot. Wish I had known that before I spent weeks lingering in the coop at bedtime giving "give peace a chance" lectures to the babies.
Bruce is a young fellow himself, and quite masterful so I don't see why we can't have peace with everyone safe from the stew pot. Wish I had known that before I spent weeks lingering in the coop at bedtime giving "give peace a chance" lectures to the babies.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Long over-due update
I must offer sincere apologies to anyone who is reading this blog (and if you are, sincere thanks as well) as I have not updated for quite a while. It has been over a month, which in my chicken years, is close to their entire adolescence. We had multiple computer problems and vacation times and, well, life happened.
The chicks are very close to adulthood now, at approx. 16 weeks. Some internet sources say the hens should be thinking about laying eggs soon, so the rush is on to build boxes. How have we solved the rooster problem? We haven't.
Roughly half of the chicks (We call them "chicks" or the "babies" to distinguish them from the adults) are roosters. They are fine, handsome fellows with interesting personalities and wonderful presence in the yard. They all subjugate themselves to Bruce, the king of the yard, and there hasn't been any fighting. They do indulge in a bit of posturing occasionally, but never around Bruce.
Any conflicts they have are usually caused by their growing awareness of their "romantic" side, and their efforts at figuring out what they're supposed to do with it. When a rooster mounts a hen, he grabs her by the feathers on the back of her neck and climbs on. The baby roosters understand that they are supposed to grab their intended by the back of the neck feathers, but they get a bit confused as to who they are supposed to be grabbing and the grabbing bit seems to be all they know about sex. So they grab the young hens and each other indiscriminately. It is not unusual to see a young hen or roo racing around the lawn with a hapless rooster in tow, clinging desperately to the fleeing sibling's neck feathers and wondering what to do next. Somebody always gets soundly told off. Even if the intended is a hen, and she doesn't jump and run like a startled rabbit, the romantic roo still doesn't know what to do after the initial grabbing.
I have to admit, though, that my boys are more than making up for their confusion in the romance department by their manful efforts at crowing. A few of them have been crowing for over a month now, which I was convinced was wonderfully precocious of them. Like everything else that is sweet and funny about young beings learning to be adults, the roos' first crows are precious. They sound like they are crowing through a kazoo. Bruce usually starts crowing between 4:00 and 5:00 am. Then the kazoo symphony begins in the babies' quarters. I can tell how many are crowing by their distinctive voices. In fact, all the babies went through a nasal, honking stage. They cheeped like babies until they looked almost like adults, and then their voices changed and they began to sound a bit like ducks. Now they are cooing and clucking like grown chickens. Marc doesn't remember the chicks of his youth going through the awkward kazoo stage, but then again he wasn't married to an obsessed woman then.
Usually, by now, we would be seriously thinking about preparing the extra roosters for the oven. As you can tell, I'm not there yet. I don't know if I ever will be. They're not challenging Bruce, nor are they fighting over the hens. The fact is, if they manage to work out some sort of arrangement among themselves that leads to relative peace in the flock, we'll keep them. We don't mind giving them away to people who need a roo for their hens, but none of us feels up to eating them. We've watched with a mixture of pride and dismay as so many of them have developed into handsome, manly roos. I don't know if it is possible for there to be peace in the flock.
I have to admit that each night when I go to count them and put them to bed, I stroke each chick and talk softly to them, encouraging them to be good and kind to each other. I even pray, as I close the doors, than they will be peace-full. I do this with then adults too. It may seem silly, but at this very minute, from where I am sitting on the couch, I can see one of the kittens snuggling up with the bunny on the front porch. At the moment, we have 3 dogs here (2 visiting), 2 cats, the rabbit and 25 chickens, and everyone gets along. In fact, one of the visiting dogs is Toby, a hyperactive Pomeranian who promptly irritated everyone in the yard except Sheldon, one of the cats, who made a point of repeatedly approaching Toby until he calmed down enough to be friends and snuggle. Toby has calmed down considerably now and is friends with everyone. So miracles can happen.
I'm counting on it. So are my roos.
The chicks are very close to adulthood now, at approx. 16 weeks. Some internet sources say the hens should be thinking about laying eggs soon, so the rush is on to build boxes. How have we solved the rooster problem? We haven't.
Roughly half of the chicks (We call them "chicks" or the "babies" to distinguish them from the adults) are roosters. They are fine, handsome fellows with interesting personalities and wonderful presence in the yard. They all subjugate themselves to Bruce, the king of the yard, and there hasn't been any fighting. They do indulge in a bit of posturing occasionally, but never around Bruce.
Any conflicts they have are usually caused by their growing awareness of their "romantic" side, and their efforts at figuring out what they're supposed to do with it. When a rooster mounts a hen, he grabs her by the feathers on the back of her neck and climbs on. The baby roosters understand that they are supposed to grab their intended by the back of the neck feathers, but they get a bit confused as to who they are supposed to be grabbing and the grabbing bit seems to be all they know about sex. So they grab the young hens and each other indiscriminately. It is not unusual to see a young hen or roo racing around the lawn with a hapless rooster in tow, clinging desperately to the fleeing sibling's neck feathers and wondering what to do next. Somebody always gets soundly told off. Even if the intended is a hen, and she doesn't jump and run like a startled rabbit, the romantic roo still doesn't know what to do after the initial grabbing.
I have to admit, though, that my boys are more than making up for their confusion in the romance department by their manful efforts at crowing. A few of them have been crowing for over a month now, which I was convinced was wonderfully precocious of them. Like everything else that is sweet and funny about young beings learning to be adults, the roos' first crows are precious. They sound like they are crowing through a kazoo. Bruce usually starts crowing between 4:00 and 5:00 am. Then the kazoo symphony begins in the babies' quarters. I can tell how many are crowing by their distinctive voices. In fact, all the babies went through a nasal, honking stage. They cheeped like babies until they looked almost like adults, and then their voices changed and they began to sound a bit like ducks. Now they are cooing and clucking like grown chickens. Marc doesn't remember the chicks of his youth going through the awkward kazoo stage, but then again he wasn't married to an obsessed woman then.
Usually, by now, we would be seriously thinking about preparing the extra roosters for the oven. As you can tell, I'm not there yet. I don't know if I ever will be. They're not challenging Bruce, nor are they fighting over the hens. The fact is, if they manage to work out some sort of arrangement among themselves that leads to relative peace in the flock, we'll keep them. We don't mind giving them away to people who need a roo for their hens, but none of us feels up to eating them. We've watched with a mixture of pride and dismay as so many of them have developed into handsome, manly roos. I don't know if it is possible for there to be peace in the flock.
I have to admit that each night when I go to count them and put them to bed, I stroke each chick and talk softly to them, encouraging them to be good and kind to each other. I even pray, as I close the doors, than they will be peace-full. I do this with then adults too. It may seem silly, but at this very minute, from where I am sitting on the couch, I can see one of the kittens snuggling up with the bunny on the front porch. At the moment, we have 3 dogs here (2 visiting), 2 cats, the rabbit and 25 chickens, and everyone gets along. In fact, one of the visiting dogs is Toby, a hyperactive Pomeranian who promptly irritated everyone in the yard except Sheldon, one of the cats, who made a point of repeatedly approaching Toby until he calmed down enough to be friends and snuggle. Toby has calmed down considerably now and is friends with everyone. So miracles can happen.
I'm counting on it. So are my roos.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Feather-friend updates
I just came in from outside to avoid yet another thunderstorm. I was sitting at the patio table with Beauty asleep in my lap. She is remarkably tame for a chicken, although she has been petted and fawned over so much I'm certain she is a veritable diva in the chicken coop.
Robin is outside now, and has been for a week. Actually, we let the chicks out too. In the heat of last week, we couldn't justify keeping them in their pen no matter how many fans we could fit in there. Everyone seems to be adapting well. Robin flies well now, and is getting better and better at finding his own food. We know this by how much food he asks us for. He's down to one or two teaspoons of cat food a day in his little dish outside. Every morning when we go out, he's there on the scaffolding by the house waiting for us. His chirp is quite distinctive, as I suppose all birds' chirps are. We are just familiar with his. We feed him, fill his little bath (a plastic ice cream container lid) and let him do his morning ablutions.
A few days ago he seemed to have had an altercation with one of the cats, because his eye was sore and he has a bit of blood on his head. He hung around in the porch most of the day, until I brought him into the house. I thought he needed a day or two to recover, and the air conditioning in the house would be more comfortable for him. I left his cage door open, but he just stayed in his cage and slept. The next day he was fine, thankfully. I'm glad that he knows that he can come back to us if he gets hurt or needs our help. It makes me feel better about leaving him out in the big world. And believe me, for a little robin, it's a huge world!
The chicks are something like nine weeks now, almost indistinguishable from the older chickens but for their size. One of the white chicks, obviously a rooster, has been trying to crow. It is the most preciously funny thing. He literally sounds like he is crowing through a kazoo. It's not the effect he is going for, I am sure, but he'll get the hang of it. I think nine weeks may be quite young for a roo to be crowing, so he has lots of time to perfect his technique. As I wrote before, the chicks are now free-range. They wander around the lawn chasing butterflies and eating bugs and just generally exploring. They tend to stick together, and every once in a while a group of them will dash across the lawn in a fluttery panic. It's never easy to tell what sets them off. Personally I think the kittens are having a bit of fun with them. The chicks are quite attached to Marc and I, and when they see me in the morning they all come rushing over to huddle around my legs, cheeping and fluttering and pecking affectionately at my legs. One time they followed me to the car, all 21 of them, and would have piled in if given the least bit of encouragement.
Bruce the rooster has been quite testy with the chicks, and they have learned to run to either Marc or I and hide behind us when he is on a rampage. He is pretty rough with them. At first, Marc encouraged me to let them be, as Bruce was merely establishing his leadership over them. It soon became apparent that he was doing more than that. He was attacking them with no provocation at all, and hurting them. They were terrified, the precious babies. They would squeak and cry and huddle in the corner of their coop to evade him, to no avail. Finally we threw animal wisdom to the wind and began to swoop in to the rescue.
One time, Bruce had Beauty cornered in the coop. When Beauty saw Marc approaching, she scooted out of the coop and ran to him, Bruce in tow. Marc reached down and Beauty jumped into his hands, buried her face in the crook of his folded arm and whimpered. Marc's heart melted. The only thing nicer than being able to care for and protect these wonderful creatures is knowing that they trust us to do so and freely avail themselves of our care.
Robin is outside now, and has been for a week. Actually, we let the chicks out too. In the heat of last week, we couldn't justify keeping them in their pen no matter how many fans we could fit in there. Everyone seems to be adapting well. Robin flies well now, and is getting better and better at finding his own food. We know this by how much food he asks us for. He's down to one or two teaspoons of cat food a day in his little dish outside. Every morning when we go out, he's there on the scaffolding by the house waiting for us. His chirp is quite distinctive, as I suppose all birds' chirps are. We are just familiar with his. We feed him, fill his little bath (a plastic ice cream container lid) and let him do his morning ablutions.
A few days ago he seemed to have had an altercation with one of the cats, because his eye was sore and he has a bit of blood on his head. He hung around in the porch most of the day, until I brought him into the house. I thought he needed a day or two to recover, and the air conditioning in the house would be more comfortable for him. I left his cage door open, but he just stayed in his cage and slept. The next day he was fine, thankfully. I'm glad that he knows that he can come back to us if he gets hurt or needs our help. It makes me feel better about leaving him out in the big world. And believe me, for a little robin, it's a huge world!
The chicks are something like nine weeks now, almost indistinguishable from the older chickens but for their size. One of the white chicks, obviously a rooster, has been trying to crow. It is the most preciously funny thing. He literally sounds like he is crowing through a kazoo. It's not the effect he is going for, I am sure, but he'll get the hang of it. I think nine weeks may be quite young for a roo to be crowing, so he has lots of time to perfect his technique. As I wrote before, the chicks are now free-range. They wander around the lawn chasing butterflies and eating bugs and just generally exploring. They tend to stick together, and every once in a while a group of them will dash across the lawn in a fluttery panic. It's never easy to tell what sets them off. Personally I think the kittens are having a bit of fun with them. The chicks are quite attached to Marc and I, and when they see me in the morning they all come rushing over to huddle around my legs, cheeping and fluttering and pecking affectionately at my legs. One time they followed me to the car, all 21 of them, and would have piled in if given the least bit of encouragement.
Bruce the rooster has been quite testy with the chicks, and they have learned to run to either Marc or I and hide behind us when he is on a rampage. He is pretty rough with them. At first, Marc encouraged me to let them be, as Bruce was merely establishing his leadership over them. It soon became apparent that he was doing more than that. He was attacking them with no provocation at all, and hurting them. They were terrified, the precious babies. They would squeak and cry and huddle in the corner of their coop to evade him, to no avail. Finally we threw animal wisdom to the wind and began to swoop in to the rescue.
One time, Bruce had Beauty cornered in the coop. When Beauty saw Marc approaching, she scooted out of the coop and ran to him, Bruce in tow. Marc reached down and Beauty jumped into his hands, buried her face in the crook of his folded arm and whimpered. Marc's heart melted. The only thing nicer than being able to care for and protect these wonderful creatures is knowing that they trust us to do so and freely avail themselves of our care.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Robin in the House!
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
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
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.
:)
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