Chickens, 4

Since my last writing, I have lost my Dad to age, my flock of Rhode Island Reds to a bear (which visited twice while I was settling Dad’s affairs in Florida) and 3 of my 5 specially ordered Golden Buffs which did not survive the journey from the hatchery in Ohio to Landaff.  The ones from the hatchery were replaced for free and I ordered 15 Black Rocks to round out the brood.  So far, so good, as they lived in the brooder, then 2 brooders, for several weeks, but they grew so fast I had to move them out to the palace.  Comb, the Rhode Island Red rooster, still owns the coop and the 2 older Golden Buffs and he have adapted to the youngsters quite nicely. Of course, 1 of the Golden Buffs turned out to be a rooster, and a quite handsome guy at that.  He has learned his place, however, as Comb is quite dominant. The hen’s name is Henrietta, a nickname I had in college for reasons I choose not to discuss.

Putting the chicks out into the run as early as I did turned out to be a good move.  I won’t say smart as that would imply that some serious consideration would have been done but it was solely for the comfort of the chicks.  Overcrowding? Holy Mackeral!  One day I came home from work and tended to the water and food and one chick flew out.  Not having the physical prowess to climb over boxes and into corners, I just left her out and closed the door to the brooder room thinking I’d ask Lindsay to catch her and return her to the brooder when he got home.  Fortunately, Todd stopped over to pick up the fish tank (another story) and offered to catch the escapee.  He did, and thank you, Todd.   Once in with the older birds they adapted well, and now even spend the nights up on the lower roosts while the 3 older chickens are up in the rafters.  I have tried to spare Comb any more anxiety as the bear continued to visit for quite a while.  As soon as I come out of the house I begin singing to the chickens, an original song I call “The Chicken Song”.  They meet me at the top of the run or at the door of the palace and I toss them some bits of bread.  The chicks are like little kids – whoever grabs the bread is chased by all the other chicks, all peeping and running as fast as they can.  The older chickens seem amused, as am I. Shaw’s continues to offer organic produce at reduced prices and I pick some up each time I am there to offer everyone, augmenting their feed with some solid treats.

Henrietta has yet to offer me an egg, but I am not putting her under any pressure.  She has taken to approaching me each time I enter the run or the palace, reminding me of my dear Matilda.

I would be seriously remiss if I did not mention that Heidi took care of the terrible mess left by the bear during my absence while in Florida.  I don’t know how to repay her and Richard for all they did, don’t even know where to start.  I think free eggs for as long as they want them will be in order, as soon as the team starts to lay.